Witchcraft
by tarnished silver things
Summary: When Angelica Potter was six years old, she wished her music teacher, Miss Prudence Trudoe, was her mother. When Chris Halliwell saw his new charge for the first time, he thought she was nothing special. Girl!Witch!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**AN/AR: Yep, I know, "She's publishing ANOTHER ONE?" Well . . . After ages and ages of writing them, I finally came up with a CHarmed/Harry crossover idea that I _liked_. And didn't think was stupidly cliched, at that. So, hope all y'all like it. - Merc. **

**Summary:**_Sometimes, when she was a little girl, she'd pretend she was Miss Trudoe's daughter, and didn't live with her aunt and uncle.  
>When he first saw her, he thought she was a normal innocent: short dark hair and big green eyes, she was nothing special. What a silly thought.<em>

Sometimes, when she was a little girl, she'd pretend she was Miss Trudoe's daughter, and didn't live with her aunt and uncle.

After all, Miss Trudoe ("Oh, c'mon kiddo, call me Prue") was nice, and liked having her around. They looked alike too, with green eyes and black hair. She let her stay after school for detention, too, to help clean up the music room and always listened to her. She told stories, too, about her sisters and her old life in America. She never said why she left though, and always looked said when she asked. So she stopped asking.

Miss Trudoe believed in magic, too. She didn't get upset or angry or scared at all when accidents she couldn't explain happened. Miss Trudoe just smiled at her, shrugged, and said, "Don't worry about it. Magic does that sometimes."

Truly, Angelica Potter wished she was Prudence Trudoe's daughter instead of the drunken woman who's name her aunt wouldn't even tell her.

"You look like you're in dreamland."

Angelica started and looked up from where she had been absentmindedly tapping piano keys. "Sorry Miss Trudoe," she blushed. "I was thinking."

Miss Trudoe smiled. "Well, that sounds terribly difficult. Maybe I should leave you to it."

"No! No. I mean . . . would you tell me a story? About magic?" Angelica glanced down at the piano keys. "How did you and your sisters learn to control it? I try, but it's so _hard_ . . . "

"Scoot over," Miss Trudoe said soflty. She sat down next to Angelica and wrapped an arm around her. "I never wanted to be a witch," she said, shocking the girl next to her. "I blamed it all on my sister Phoebe, because she's the one that unbound out powers. I couldn't always control them very well. For the longest time, I would look at something and it would fall off a shelf, or if I tried to move something, it would smash into a wall." Miss Trudoe laughed a little, and hugged Angelica closer. "So don't worry, kiddo. It takes time. Now go home, it's almost four-thirty."

Angelica frowned, but nodded. "Good-bye, Miss Trudoe," she said quietly, picking her bag up and slipping from the piano bench. "See you on Monday."

"Bye, Angelica."

As always, Angelica took the long way home, walking around Magnolia Road and down Wisteria Walk rather than cutting through the park, like she knew most of the other kids did. She trudged to Number Four stopping often. When she got home it was five o' clock, and she slipped quietly into her cupboard. Aunt Petunia wouldn't check in until half-past and it was supper time. Until then . . .

Angelica reached her arm under the bottommost stair and pulled out a small, leather-bound brown book. It looked like an inexpensive journal one would buy from a bookstore, with the two brass claps on the cover, the stitched edges and ridged spine. Angelica supposed that was where Miss Trudoe had bought it, but she didn't mind. It wasn't something anyone would notice if the looked in her cupboard, and it was the nicest thing she'd ever owned.

Her very own Book of Shadows.

Miss Trudoe had already added a few things to it when she gave it to her, information about Whitelighters and dark lighters and a few healing spells, that sort of thing, but she said the rest should be filled by Angelica and whoever she thought should add to it, like close friends and family. It had been the best birthday present _ever_, even if she had been given it a month before it was actually her birthday.

Angelica sighed when she realised that, though she'd pulled the chain to turn on her light bulb, it wasn't on. So Aunt Petunia hadn't bought a new bulb and changed it yet. Great. Setting her book in her lap, Angelica closed her eyes and tried to remember the spell - Miss Trudoe had helped her with it just last week, when she'd found her in a closet after Dudley and his gang locked her in, knowing she was afraid of the dark. After a moment, her eyes lit up, and she whispered, palm facing upward,

"In the darkness, no flame in sight,  
>Greatly I'm in need of light.<br>I call the powers from across the land,  
>To create a glowing in my hand."<p>

A small, glowing orb appeared hovering a centimetre over her palm, and Angelica smiled, and looked back down at her book. She wanted to memorise it, and know it inside and out. Miss Trudoe always said that you needed to be prepared, whether you were a witch or not, and Angelica really, really wanted to make her proud. She skimmed over the first couple of pages, making sure she had them memorised already, and got to the page on herbs, where she began reading it under her breath so she'd remember it. She'd just finished repeating that carrot seed helped with fertility for the third time when she heard the tell-tale creak of the floorboard outside the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was coming.

Quickly, Angelica balled her hand into a fist to get rid of the light, shut her book, and shoved it under the stair again. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, and Aunt Petunia opened the door.

The tall, blonde looked around for a moment before her eyes fell on her niece and she pulled Angelica up by the arm. "Get _up_, Angelica!" she snapped. "It's nearly supper, now help me set the table before your uncle gets home. For the love of God, why weren't you doing your homework like you should have been, you ungrateful little wretch?"

Angelica shrunk in on herself and ducked her head. It would be useless to say she'd already done her work at school - even if Aunt Petunia believed her, Dudley would find out and steal it from her. So instead, Angelica crossed her fingers behind her back and murmured to her shoes, "I had detention again, and my light didn't work when I came home."

"Speak _up_ when you talk to an adult!" Aunt Petunia snarled.

Angelica repeated herself, loudly enough for her aunt to understand this time, and the woman pursed her lips at her. "In the kitchen," she said after a moment, stiffly. "Set out the silverware and glasses while I put down the plates. Get to it!"

Angelica hurried to obey, idly going over her Book as she set about her work.

That night at supper, Uncle Vernon made an announcement.

"Pet," he said proudly, "We're going on a holiday. The company's looking to expand into Germany, and since I speak the language," Uncle Vernon puffed up 'modestly' here, "they want to send me to scope the place out. It'll be a month and I get a two-bedroom suite at the hotel of my choice."

Aunt Petunia looked thrilled. "When is it, dear?" she simpered. Dudley looked to his father in interest as well, successfully distracted from his hand-held video game for the first time since he got it. Angelica paid attention with half an ear, not really caring what fun thing her relatives got to do next. She'd be sent to a neighbour's anyway, after all. She didn't really hear the conversation after that until Aunt Petunia said, more than a trifle unhappily, "But Mrs. Figg's out of town then, Vernon darling. Who else would take the girl?"

Angelica looked up, sending a silent prayer that she wouldn't get smacked for this, and said, "You could send me to Miss Trudoe's for the weekend." At her relatives' incredulous and, in her uncle's case, thoroughly angered faces, she lied, "It's just, she was complaining today that she needed a second job, and me having to stay for detention kept her from going out to find one. She sounded like she really needed the money, so it would be good for her, and she wouldn't even have to drop me off and pick me up from school, since I'd just wait for her."

To her everlasting shock, her aunt and uncle agreed.

"I'll write a note to Miss Trudoe and you'll give it to her in the morning," Aunt Petunia said matter-of-factly.

"Be _certain_ to give it to her girl," Uncle Vernon said threateningly. Angelica nodded very, very quickly and bowed her head to finish her food. She wasn't needed - or wanted, for that matter - in conversation now, and adding any more to the table talk would just asking for trouble.

That Monday, Angelica _ran_ to school to convince her teacher to take her in for half a month. Miss Trudoe bit her lip for a moment, then nodded. "Why not?" she asked rhetorically. "I'll just drive you over to my house after school that Friday - make sure you bring the things you'll need with you to school that day, okay?"

Angelica hugged her 'round the waist. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

As it turned out, 'that Friday' happened to be the last day of school. So, Angelica asked her Aunt for a plastic grocery bag, and stuffed it with her other set of clothes, the new toothbrush and hairbrush her aunt bought her, and her Book of Shadows, hidden between Dudley's old shirt and his old pair of jeans. The day went by quickly, and it seemed like it barely took any time at all before Angelica's last day in Year Six ended, and she was dashing to the music room, half- afraid that Miss Trudoe had suddenly decided that she didn't want to take her home, after all . . .

But she was there. Miss Trudoe was ready and waiting, her purse in her hand, and she was standing outside the music room door. "Hey, kiddo, you ready to go?" she asked, smiling at Angelica. The little girl grinned.

"Yup!"

Miss Trudoe's house was only a few blocks from the school, on Nasturtium Boulevard, and they walked there. Her house was two storeys, like most houses in Little Whinging, and had a small, one-car, free-standing garage beside the house. It was light blue, and Angelica could just see what looked like a messy garden in the back yard. She looked up to face her teacher and grinned. "It's brilliant."

Miss Trudoe ruffled her hair. "Thanks, sweetheart. Now come on in, I bought some cookies from the store. You don't hate chocolate chips, do you?" She scrunched her nose a little, laughing at her own joke, and Angelica felt her grin grow wider.

"I _LOVE_ chocolate chip bis-cookies!" Angelica half-shouted, stumbling over using the American word for her favourite treat. Miss Trudoe ruffled her hair again and lead her inside.

Angelica had the feeling this wouldn't be a good month - it would be a _great_ month.


	2. Chapter 2

_Angelica had the feeling this wouldn't be a good month - it would be a great month._

And it was. Miss Trudoe finally got Angelica to start calling her Prue ("It's not school here, kiddo . . . " "I know that! . . . Miss Prue?" "_No._")

The last days came all too quickly. Angelica didn't want to leave, and she thought - hoped? - that Prue didn't want her to, either. But maybe she was just reading too much into things. One morning, at breakfast, the day before she was due to leave, Angelica was beyond surprised when her hostess handed her a thick, yellow-toned envelope.

"Is this for me?" she asked in confusion, taking the letter from the other witch. Prue nodded.

"You're the only Miss A. Potter, here, kiddo. Unless that's my name . . . "

"No, it's mine!" Angelica cried, clutching the letter to her chest. She'd never gotten a letter before. She didn't want to give it up.

Actually, she was afraid to open it, now that she thought of it. What if it was hate mail, like she got instead of Valentines in class every year? That would be a terrible first-ever letter . . . She glanced at the address.

Miss A. PotterThe Guest Bedroom7571 Nasturtium BoulevardLittle Whinging, Surrey

Biting her lip in trepidation, Angelica hesitantly pried open the envelope, doing her best to keep the seal intact, and slid out two thick pieces of paper - they felt weird, not like regular paper, or even the linen paper in her Book of Shadows - and read the heading.

'HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY' she read. Then she read it again. And once more, just to make certain she wasn't seeing things. She looked up at Prue. "Is this _real?_" she asked. The woman quirked an eyebrow and moved around the table to read the letter over Angelica's shoulder.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she murmured. "I didn't know there were schools for magic," she said turning her head toward Angelica. "I never encountered one with my sisters, though they may have, by now . . . " she shook her head and muttered, "Damn Elders."

Angelica nodded, and they both turned back to the letter.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOLof WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.,  
>Chf. Warlock, SupremeMugwump,<br>International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Potter_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall  
>Deputy Headmistress<em>

"That's not a very good letter," Angelica stated, eying the paper dubiously.

Prue nodded in agreement. "No, it's not. What if you didn't know about magic?"

"And where am I supposed to get a trained _owl?_"

Prue shook her head. "No idea, kiddo. But . . . "

"But?" Angelica asked, hopeful.

Prue smiled at her. "We could always scry for it. Then I could astral project there and ask them a few questions for you."

Angelica pumped her fists in the air. "Brilliant! Let's go!" she exclaimed, and hopped up, ready to run up the stairs and find a map. She didn't get that far. Prue grabbed her by the collar and sat her down again first.

"Eat, kid. You need the nutrients."

Angelica pouted. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And don't call me 'Ma'am.'"

"Yes, Prue."

Then finally breakfast was finished, and the dishes were washed and put away. _Then_ Prue let Angelica run up the stairs and grab a map and the scrying crystal. They spread it out over the round kitchen table, and wrapped it around the now-rolled-up letter.

The crystal landed on a lake in the middle of the Scottish Highlands. The two witches exchanged glances. Prue shrugged. "Let's hope it's not under water. Back in a few."

And then her body slumped in her chair, and Angelica stood a little nervously, making sure her teacher would roll over onto her face on the hard kitchen floor.

The shores of the Black Lake were beautiful, Prue admitted silently to herself. The forest nearby was rather imposing and dark, and there was a large, absolutely fantastic castle, right out of a fantasy, perched on a low cliff, proudly facing the east. Now where was everyone?

"'Scuse me, miss, what ya doin' here?"

Prue jumped and turned around, ready to send whoever spoke flying. The speaker in question was a large, wild-looking man with a monster of a moleskin coat. A sleepy-eyed dog stood lazily beside him, completing the picture.

Prue straightened and set her shoulders back. "My name's Prue Trudoe, I'm here on behalf of my charge. She got an odd letter in the mail. This is Hogwarts, right?"

The man looked absolutely bewildered, though by her American accent or the fact that she was there, Prue wasn't quite sure.

"Ya mean ya never heard o' Hogwarts?" the man exclaimed.

Ah. Well, that answered that question. Prue crossed her arms, a tad impatiently. "No. I haven't. Who do I talk to about admissions?"

"Ad-what?"

Prue sighed. "Who's in charge?"

"Why, Dumbledore, o' course."

"Could you please take me to him?"

"Why sure, he's right in his office . . . " the man trailed off, and started walking toward the castle. Prue followed.

Soon they were in front of a large stone gargoyle, where the large man - Hagrid, he'd said his name was - cleared his throat and said, as if it were perfectly normal to say to a statue, "Jelly Slugs."

What the hell was a Jelly Slug?

And then to Prue's shock, the gargoyle moved aside, and Hagrid motioned for her to stand on the circular, moving steps that had been hidden behind it.

It was a freaking magical escalator. In a _castle._ It was . . . A little bit awesome.

Hagrid got on behind her, and after a moment they were in front of a dark wooden door with a big round knocker in the middle. There was a simple gold plaque stating 'Headmaster' on it at about eye-level. Prue knocked.

"Come in," came an aged voice from behind the door. Prue did so, Hagrid still following, and Prue blinked when she saw the most _fascinating_ office she'd likely ever laid eyes on. It was large, round, with many windows and portraits entirely covering the walls, so it was impossible to tell what colour the wallpaper was. There were spindly tables all over the place, holding delicate silver instruments, only some of which Prue recognised from the Halliwell Book of Shadows and Leo's ramblings years before. There was a large, ornate perch, holding what looked like a beautiful gold-and-red swan. At the end of the room, there was a rectangular indent, with two tall windows on either side of a large, empty portrait, in front of which was an oversized wood desk, with a throne-like chair behind it and a few chintz armchairs circled in the front.

"Thank you for delivering our guest Hagrid, please, don't let us keep you from your work."

Prue turned to face . . . Father Time? It certainly seemed so: the man in front of her was tall, thin, with a long loose white beard and hair to match, wearing dark purple velvet robes and a pointed hat. He wore half-moon spectacles that were in danger of falling off his crooked nose.

Hagrid left, and the man - Headmaster Dumbledore, apparently - smiled genially at her. "I take it you have business with me, Miss . . . ?"

"Trudoe," Prue stated. "Prue Trudoe."

Dumbledore inclined his head toward her. "Miss Trudoe. If I may, ask what has brought you here to my school?"

Prue shook back her hair defensively. "I was watching one of the kids in my neighbourhood overnight and she got a letter in the mail from your school, inviting her to come. Neither of us have ever heard of Hogwarts before, and the letter didn't say anything about it."

Dumbledore looked surprised. "I was under the impression that American schools mentioned foreign institutions in the history classes, as Hogwarts does."

Prue shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I never went to one. I'm not a wizard."

"Witch," Dumbledore corrected.

"Previously," Prue admitted.

Dumbledore looked slightly confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"I died," Prue said bluntly. "Now I'm a Whitelighter, and my charge isn't attending your school without knowing at least _something_ about it. We had to scry to even know where it was."

Dumbledore blinked very rapidly. "My apologies," he said blankly, "but you're dead? And not magical?"

Prue blinked in surprise, then groaned softly. He had no clue. What kind of magic school was this? She sat down in one of the armchairs and began explaining. Whitelighters, witches, demons, warlocks, all of that. Dumbledore looked a bit dazed at the end of her rant.

"Any more questions?" Prue asked, ignoring the Elders beginning to jingle her.

"Yes, I'd like to enquire the name of your charge?"

Prue smiled slightly at the thought of Angelica. "Angelica Potter." She bit the inside of her cheek and looked up at the ceiling. The jingling, what was with the noisy jingling? She glowered upward. "Look," she told Dumbledore, "I gotta go, Elders are calling me. I'll be back."

And she orbed out, never seeing the look of absolute, pure _shock_ on the Headmaster's face.

His lemon drop even fell out and stuck to his beard.

The Elders were unhappy. They didn't want wizards to know about witchcraft, apparently. Prue rolled her eyes and snorted at them. They probably shouldn't have given her a wizard-witch as a charge then, huh? She told them as much. Then came the second rant on responsibility.

"Fine," she finally said. "I'll bind him to keep his mouth shut."

Then she orbed back out again.

Dumbledore was ready and waiting, a quill in hand, poised over a roll of parchment. He peppered her with questions. Prue sat back and waited for him to finish.

"Secrecy, needed be," she intoned, staring hard at him,  
>"That witchcraft's not revealed by thee.<br>Thus your lips shall never tell,  
>That witchcraft is alive and well."<p>

Dumbledore stared at her in confusion when a cool feeling settled on him, almost nonexistent as it settled over his head and across his mouth. "I beg your pardon?"

Prue shrugged. "The Elders want our magic kept a secret. Thus, either I cast a spell binding you from playing tattle-tale, or you get your memory erased. So I made you shut up. Now then, tell me about Hogwarts," she said, leaning forward. "What classes are there? What are the teachers like? Is it a day school or a boarding school? If the latter, where do the students sleep? Do they go home on weekends? When are their breaks? How long is a school day? What do you teach? How big are the classes? How many kids go here? What's your bullying policy?"

It was another two hours before Prue got back to Nasturtium Boulevard, after Dumbledore insisted she take a tour of the school and let her in on the whole 'Girl-Who-Lived' thing surrounding Angelica. There was also the matter of her explaining that _no_, the Dursleys were not dead, much though some people may wish them to be. She was just watching Angelica until they got back from their vacation in Germany.

Angelica's worried face was hovering over her when she returned to her body. "What _happened?_" the ten-year-old asked worriedly when her eyes opened.

Prue told her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Angelica's worried face was hovering over her when she returned to her body. "What happened?" the ten-year-old asked worriedly when her eyes opened._

_Prue told her._

Angelica blinked. "Okay . . . So if I go to Hogwarts, I can't tell anyone about magic?"

Prue nodded. "Not about our kind, at least."

The dark-haired child nodded. "Well it won't be too different from what I'm used to, at least. No-one here knows I'm a witch, either." She hesitated for a moment before saying, "So an Elder really orbed into the office and yelled at you?"

Prue nodded, silently wishing that she could just tell her charge she was a Whitelighter. But no, the Elders refused to repeal their rule that a charge had to figure out that their Whitelighter, well, _was_ their Whitelighter. She couldn't tell the girl. Absently, Prue wondered how that would work when Angelica went to Hogwarts.

"They're crazy faces," Angelica stated bluntly. Prue laughed. "I'm serious," Angelica said. She glanced down at the Hogwarts letter still on the table. "How do you think I should bring it up to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon? They'll probably think it's a hoax . . . "

Prue smiled at her, wrinkling her nose a little. "Goof. They're sending over a teacher this weekend for you, I already told you that. You'll have until then to decide whether or not you want to go, and then they'll tell your relatives." Prue's face softened, and she smoothed Angelica's hair down. "Don't worry, Angie, it'll work out," she said quietly. Angelica nodded.

"I believe you."

_One week later_

Angelica paced nervously on the pavement outside. The person from Hogwarts was due to come at two o' clock, and it was quarter-'til. What if they didn't show up? What if her relatives didn't let her go? Could she run away? Would they let her run away to Hogwarts? Maybe if Miss Trudoe taught her to astral project, she could go to school there and . . . Fall asleep and fail normal classes. Which would make her aunt and uncle even angrier, and paint a target on her back for warlocks and demons. Drat.

So caught p was she in her worrying that Angelica never noticed the tabby cat with squares around it's eyes approaching her until it hopped onto the front wall and turned into a tall, stern-looking woman in what Angelica half-consciously recognised as an Edwardian teacher's clothing from one of her aunt's period movies.

"Miss Potter?" the stern teacher from the last century asked, straightening her square glasses.

Angelica nodded silently, struck dumb at seeing a cat turn into a person. Oh, she'd heard of shape shifters before, Prue had told her about the ones that used to live across the street from her in America, but she'd never actually _seen_ it.

"You're a shape shifter!" sh blurted before she could stop herself. The teacher, however, just smiled slightly and inclined her head.

"An Animagus, actually Miss Potter. If you have a knack for Transfiguration, you might be able to become one as well."

Angelica stared. "You can _learn_ to be a shape shifter? To turn into anything?"

The woman shook her head. "Only animals, and each witch or wizard may only turn into one animal. It's a difficult process."

Angelica nodded. "I take it you're from Hogwarts, Ma'am?"

"I am," the woman agreed. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor."

"Angelica Potter," Angelica said, holding out a hand to shake. "Pleasure to meet you. Here, my aunt's the only one home right now, I'll take you to her."

What ensued was not what Angelica expected. At all.

Apparently, Aunt Petunia had been aware of magic, contrary to appearances. She also recognised Professor McGonagall.

"_You!_" the horse-faced woman had screeched when she caught sight of the aged woman. "What are you doing here, you freak? You haven't even sent her a letter!"

McGonagall glared. "That is where you are wrong, Mrs. Dursley. We sent your niece her letter a week ago, and I can to find out whether or not she would attend."

Aunt Petunia's usually sour face puckered up like a lemon. "She won't!"

"I'm afraid, Mrs. Dursley, that it isn't your decision to make," the witch said coolly. She turned to Angelica. "Miss Potter? Do you wish to attend?"

Angelica nodded quickly. "Yes, Ma'am," she said.

And then they were off. Aunt Petunia lunged toward them, as if to strike Angelica, and McGonagall grabbed her arm and they were very suddenly somewhere else.

"Where in the world are we?" Angelica asked in shock. She'd never seen a place like this in her whole life before.

They were in what looked like a winding cobble-stoned side street, with a mish-mash of colourful buildings - there were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Angelica had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon . . .

It was completely fantastic.

"This is Diagon Alley, Miss Potter," McGonagall said. "It's the main shopping centre for the wizarding world in Britain. The main entrance is through the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road if one does not choose to Apparate."

"Apparate?" Angelica asked, confused.

"I believe Muggle - non-magical - works refer to it as 'teller-portation.'"

"Teleportation," Angelica corrected immediately, then blushed. "Ma'am," she added, to be polite. McGonagall inclined her head. "Where are we going now?"

"To Gringotts, the Wizards Bank, to collect money from your vault so you may buy your school supplies. After that I will take you to Flourish and Blott's to buy your books and the Muggle-born information package."

"Muggle-what?"

"A witch or wizard born to non-magical parents. You'll need the packet, as you didn't grow up with magic. Come along."

The bank, Gringotts, a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a tiny little man about half a head shorter than Angelica, with a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, she noticed, very long fingers and feet. _A goblin,_ Angelica thought, remembering the picture Prue had shown her of one when she decided that Angelica needed to learn more about magical being besides demons.

The goblin bowed as Angelica and McGonagall walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed  
>Of what awaits the sin of greed,<br>For those who take, but do not earn,  
>Must pay most dearly in their turn.<br>For if you seek beneath our floors  
>A treasure that was never yours,<br>Thief, you have been warned, beware,  
>Of finding more than treasure there.<em>

"That's pretty," Angelica murmured. The Professor gave her an odd look, but didn't say anything.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. McGonagall led Angelica to a nearby counter where there wasn't a line.

"Yes?" the goblin asked, not looking up from the rubies he was weighing - they were the size of Angelica's fist.

"We're here to get money for me to buy my school supplies," Angelica said, eager to get going.

The goblin looked up. "Key?"

Angelica stopped hopping and looked confused. "Key?"

"Your _vault_ key. The one needed to gain access to any gold you may store here," the goblin snapped impatiently. Angelica shrunk in on herself. What vault key? She turned to look at the Professor.

"I have it," McGonagall said. "I trust this is satisfactory?" She handed the goblin a tiny golden key from the sleeve of her robes.

The goblin looked at it closely. "That seems to be in order. I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Claspaxe!"

Claspaxe the goblin led them to Angelica grinned when they stopped in front of it. "hat was great!" she shouted. "Can the carts go faster?"

McGonagall looked fit to be ill at that thought. Claspaxe grinned nastily, but didn't say a word as he unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Angelica gasped. Inside were stacks upon stacks of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze ones.

"Powers that Be," Angelica whispered. "This is - this is _mine?_"

McGonagall nodded.

All hers — it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking. How often had they complained that Angelica cost them far too much to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London. Angelica almost reverently piled a few handfuls of the the coins into her purse, half-afraid they would disappear like smoke when she touched them. She'd never had more than five pounds to her name before. She was almost afraid her brain would crack trying to process it all.

"Um, Claspaxe?" she asked, straightening up and putting her purse away in her handbag. "What exactly are all the coins?"

"The gold ones are Galleons," Claspaxe explained in a flat tone. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. Exchange rates change often, and you will need to ask a teller for the exact numbers. The averageis five pounds to a galleon. Into the cart if you have finished collecting your money."

One even faster wild cart ride later found Angelica beaming giddily beside an ill-looking Transfiguration Professor in the bright sunlight outside Gringotts. Angelica was almost hopping up and down in her excitement: she didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money in her purse than she'd had in her whole life — more money than even Dudley had ever had, even.

"To the book shop," McGonagall directed. "Follow me."

The rest of the day was mostly a blur, with Angelica winning a squabble with her soon-to-be teacher over her buying extra books - there was so much she'd never seen before, and she wondered if Miss Trudoe even knew half of it - and getting fitted for school robes and buying the rest of her supplies before _finally_ buying her wand - eleven and a quarter inches, holly, with a Phoenix feather core.

Admittedly, it being the 'sibling wand' to Voldemort's put a bit of a downer on the moment, as did Ollivander being plain _creepy_, but still! She had a wand! No personal gain rule!

Okay, she was bad about following it all the time, anyway, but _still._

_A wand!_ Angelica squee'd.

**AN/AR: Here's the next chap! Whatcha think? I'm kind of afraid to stop writing, actually: I don't want to lose momentum and just . . . Stop, running out of air. But hopefully that won't happen! And next chapter shows a bit more of Prue and a bit less of Angie, so we can see more from our favourite deceased Charmed One.**

**Sakura Lisel brought up a great point in a review: Why did the Elders get angry about Prue telling a wizard about witchcraft? Because I see the Elders a lot like I see Dumbledore: good, even great intention, but still very worried about keeping their power base. Things stay the same, they keep their power base. So, they do their best to keep witches from knowing more than the vaguest 'oh, you exist, but you're rare, so I don't need to know anything about you' about wizard kind. At the same time, they're moral enough to want to protect those under their domain - i.e. witches - from a threat they know nothing of, so try and keep wizards from knowing about witches either. Thus the angry-at-Prue-ness. Cases like Angelica's are always a troublesome in their minds - you'll find out just how ickle Angie's a witch and a wizard later, I swear. NO, she isn't a Halliwell or related to them. - Merc.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN/AR: Just so no-one gets completely thrown for a loop - I moved up the HP-verse timeline and moved back the Charmed-verse. Charmed is more technology-ware, but I don't feel comfortable writing five years in the furute, so I settled on a happy medium. Angelica was born July 31, 1990, not 1980. Chris was born on November 16, 1989, not November 16, 2004. Just so you know. - Merc.**

Prue always knew that angering the Elders would - eventually, some day in the far and distant future - bit her in the ass someday.

But why did that distant someday have to be _now?_

She looked around her office, all the furniture dissembled and boxes piled up - boxes marked 'clothes,' 'books,' and 'stuff.' Okay, she _got_ that they were separated from the wizarding world for a reason, though she doubted it was the given reason. 'To keep wizards from harming us,' her foot. More likely to keep witches in line and following the Elder's rules.

But maybe she was pessimistic. And probably right.

They didn't have to reassign Angelica to another Whitelighter, though. 'You have until the end of the summer,' the Elders said. 'After that, you'll have a different charge, and Angelica will have a new Whitelighter.'

Bastards.

Prue still didn't know how to break it to the kid. Angelica was . . . She was the daughter Prue never had. The daughter she and Andy might have had together. How could she tell the poor kid that she was leaving, walking out on her? What would Angelica think? That Prue was abandoning her?

Prue wasn't stupid. She knew that Angelica was angry at her parents for leaving her behind, 'dying in a car crash.' Them being murdered instead hadn't changed that.

She didn't want that anger directed at her.

Wait. Prue paused, then straightened, dropping her book onto the floor. The Elders only said she wouldn't be Angelica's charge anymore.

That didn't mean she had to _leave._

A grin growing wide on her face, Prue began unpacking. So she wouldn't be able to sense Angelica anymore. She wouldn't be able to help her at school. But she could help her when she came back to Little Whinging, just like if she were still alive. And she might even be able to get around the not being able to sense her bit, if what she remembered from the Book of Shadows was right . . .

"Gotcha," she whispered, smirking up at the ceiling.

Six hours later, and exhausted witch had put everything back in order and was tiredly thumbing through her Book. She supposed that she probably _shouldn't_ have gone back to the Manor as soon as her sisters and Leo were gone after getting her wings to copy the family Book, but hey, it helped her out. The Elders hadn't said anything, thought she admitted they almost certainly knew, and she wasn't going to bring it up. _'Better to ask forgiveness than permission,'_ Grams had always said.

Unless you were Phoebe and got caught sneaking out again. Then you pretty much needed to beg for mercy.

That had always been fun to watch as a kid.

Ah, there it was. One page on how to create a mind link, and another right across from it saying how to break one.

"Mind link," she read under her breath, shifting in her armchair to get more comfortable. "Harmess your mental energy by reciting this spell within a circle of candles." She paused a moment, and read over the spell silently - Phoebe waking up their powers had taught her the lesson early on not to read anything that rhymed out loud.

_'Life to Life  
>and Mind to Mind<br>Our Spirits now  
>will entwine<em>

_'We meld our souls  
>and journey to<br>the One whose thoughts  
>We wish we knew.'<em>

Wordy, but workable. She may want to modify it, though . . . She really didn't want to end up stuck in a teenage girl's head. Once as herself had been enough. But this was a good framework. Prue copied the spell and counter spell down in a blank notebook - teacher discounts always were nice - and set the Book aside. Time for bed. And pasta. Fettuccine sounded delicious, and she had some in the pantry.

Prue was still going over how best to word the spell to get the result she wanted - she was contemplating using poppets, but was worried what would happen if she messed up - when the doorbell rang. Angie. She was the only persont hat ever used the bell.

"Door's open," she called, putting the notebook away.

In a moment Angelica came into sight as she passed the bathroom. The kid looked dead on her feet, but happier than Prue generally saw her. Her pigtails were half undone.

"Hey, kiddo," she smiled, motioning the girl closer. "How'd it go?" Angelica sat down on the coffee table, and Prue set to re-braiding her hair while she listened to the girl talk.

"Great! I'm going to Hogwarts, Prue! Professor McGonagall said it's my choice, Aunt Petunia couldn't stop me. Ooh, and did you know that wizards can learn to be shape shifters? Well, not _proper_ shape shifters, but they can learn to turn into an animal and back. Just the one animal. The Professor called it being an Animagus, she said if I'm good at Transfiguration I'll be able to learn to do it!

"I got loads of books, too, I have to bring them over - there's some stuff in them I've never even _thought_ of, and did you know unicorns were real? Live unicorns! The bank is run by goblins, too! They're just like you said, kinda snarly. Claspaxe was nice, though: he made the cart go faster when I asked. It was fun! I don't think McGonagall will ever enjoy going to an amusement park, though. She looked ill. And my parents had a _vault_ of gold coins, Prue! I didn't know they'd even left me _anything! _I got my wand, too - holly and phoenix feather. I'm kinda worried about it, though . . . "

Prue gripped Angelica's shoulder's comfortingly and turned the girl to face her. "Why's that?"

Angelica chewed her lip hesitantly. "The wand-maker, Mister Ollivander, said that the Phoenix that gave the feather for my wand only gave one other, the one in Voldemort's wand. He said they're brother wands."

Prue nodded in comprehension. "You're worried about the sympathetic link between them affecting you."

"Uh-huh," Angelica said, eyes wide. She suddenly gripped Prue in a tight hug. Surprised, the woman slowly wrapped her arms around the girl.

"I don't want to be like him," Angelica confessed fearfully. "I don't want to be like the man that killed my parents."

Prue stroked her hair, rocking the child gently. "Hey, it'll be alright, Ang, I promise. I won't let that happen to you."

Angelica pulled back. "How?" she croaked.

Prue smiled to reassure the girl. "It's an idea I've been having since I went to Hogwarts. It's in Scotland, and I'm here, right?"

"Right . . . "

"I still want to watch out for you. I found a spell in my Book of Shadows, and I'm re-wording it to make sure I get the outcome I want . . . If you agree."

Angelica scrunched her eyebrows together. "What is it?"

"A mind link," Prue said bluntly. "So I can keep an eye on you and astral project in if you're in trouble."

Angelica nodded. "I don't . . . I wouldn't mind that." She smiled faintly. "It's be like you were my guardian angel."

Prue smiled. "Yeah," she said softly, reaching to hug the girl again. "Just like that."

_August 30, 2001_

"Are you sure you want to do this, kiddo?" Prue asked, watching her charge's face carefully.

Angelica's lips thinned, and she nodded stubbornly. "Are _you_ sure?" she fired back. Prue smiled.

"Sure, kid. Grab the candles."

Angelica nodded and grabbed the pillar candles from the desk while Prue rolled up the area rug so they could set up the circle on the wooden floor, where wax was easier to clean up. Six candles - turquoise, white, pink, turquoise, white, pink.

"Okay," Prue said, "let's get going."

Angelica nodded again and sat down in the circle, trying not to put too much weight on her ankles - last time they were on pins and needles for an hour. Taught her not to fall asleep when sitting on your knees.

Or maybe she should just not fall asleep when she was meditating. That was probably a good idea, too.

Prue sat across from her and began lighting her three candles. Angelica did the same. When they finished, Prue held out her hands, both flat and facing upward. Angelica gave her mentor a small smile and placed her own palms over them.

"Life to Life," they began,  
>"and Mind to Mind.<br>Our Spirits now  
>will entwine.<p>

"We link our minds,  
>the other's thought to hear.<br>That both may know  
>when Danger's near."<p>

There was a light warm feeling on her temples, and Angelica opened her eyes - she hadn't realised she'd closed them - to see a pulse of white light surrounding her and Prue's hands. She caught the other witch's eye, and Prue smiled at her. A moment later, the candles were out, and they were cleaning up.

"I don't feel any different," Angelica said. She was curious, wouldn't she notice the link? Did this mean it hadn't worked - No. She shoved that thought away. Doubt was the biggest spell ruin-er. She wouldn't think like that. If it was meant to work it would. Maybe it just needed a little time.

"Ouch!"

Angelica turned around to see Prue shaking her hand - her finger was bloody, "Prue?"

The older witch turned to her. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. _Stupid athame, I should have out it away, not left it out . . . _"

"Why'd you leave it out, then?" Angelica asked. Prue looked at her oddly.

"Leave what out?"

Now it was Angelica's turn to be confused. "Your athame. You _just_ said you should have put it away beforehand."

"No," Prue said slowly, "I didn't."

"Oh." Angelica blinked. Then she grinned. "It worked!"

Prue blinked back, and smiled. "Yeah," she said. "I guess it did . . . "

**AN/AR: WHOO-HOO! Second chapter today, for the second day in a row! *does the cabbage patch dance* :D **

**- Merc.**


	5. Chapter 5

_When he first saw her, he thought she was a normal innocent: short dark hair and big green eyes, she was nothing special. What a silly thought._

"SOUP'S ON!"

He groaned. Jingling. What was with the jingling? And the loud yelling at . . . He cracked open one eye to glare at his alarm clock, which was still beeping at him after he'd attacked the snooze button at least twice. Consciously.

Seven in the morning. Who had breakfast ready at seven in the morning on a weekend?

Oh, yeah. His mom did. And why didn't the Elders stop jingling?

"You coming to eat, peanut?" his mother's voice came up the stairs. He groaned and sat up.

"Coming, Mom!" he yelled.

Damn jingling.

Chris Halliwell trudged down the stairs in his pyjamas and into the dining room, where his mother had set out eggs, cereal, toast and orange juice.

"Have I told you how much I love you, Mom?" Wyatt was saying as he loaded his plate up. Piper Just rolled her eyes and laughed, grabbing her own breakfast.

"Too many times to count."

Chris stared at both of them sourly. Why were his family all morning people? Was he related to anyone that wasn't? He slumped into a chair and began buttering his toast. He wondered if his mother would ever let him have coffee . . .

_Jingle. Jingle._

Chris glared at the ceiling. "Oh, _shut up_ already, I'm coming," he drawled tiredly. "Mom, I'll be right back, the Elders are calling."

And then he left, before she could tell him to change out of his pj's to (probably) get yelled at by a bunch of stuffy old dudes.

Chris supposed that the Upper Regions were beautiful, in a bank-ish, holier-than-thou kind of way. He personally thought they were impersonal and chilly, but maybe he was pessimistic. And probably right. Admittedly, from the stories his mom and aunts told, the 'new' (as-of 2008) Council of Elders were better than the one they'd dealt with when they first became witches, but Chris still didn't like them. Shrugging away those thoughts, he looked around and saw that the Elders were a few feet away, and judging by their body language, impatient for him to show up. They lowered their hoods when he approached, and he saw that they were Cecil, Adair, and Kevin. The tolerable ones.

" . . . Hi," he said, when they didn't say anything.

Kevin's lips twitched.

"You have a new charge," Sandra said. "A young witch, named Angelica Potter."

Chris blinked. "You're giving me a brand-new witch? Isn't that usually left to Whitelighters with more experience?"

Cecil answered him. "Generally, it is. Which is why it's a good thing that she isn't new. She's had her powers for a few years, now."

"So why is she only now getting a Whitelighter?"

"Her last one . . . " Kevin trailed off, uncertain as to what to say.

"Screwed up?" Chris added helpfully.

Sandra raised an eyebrow, "To put it crassly, yes. Your new charge is due to begin attending a school for wizardry in September, and it was decided that since you're the right age to be going, that you should attend the same school to watch over her."

Chris blinked. "_You,_" he said, "Get to tell my mom."

Piper actually agreed. Well, once the whole 'no, not all wizards are evil Grimoire-stealing-lechers' thing was cleared up. She thought it was a great idea for Chris to 'get a taste of the world' and 'spread his wings,' so to speak.

It was _supposed _to be Aunt Phoebe that paid attention to that psychology crap, Chris thought.

So here he was, September First, in _another freaking country,_ waiting for his Aunt Paige to stop taking photos of him scowling and giving obviously fake smiles in turn so that he could just get on the train and find some food already. Stupid time difference. It was six-thirty for him right now, he was hungry!

Oh, dang. He had to go through the whole day all over again, didn't he?

"Ooh, good luck, sweetie," Paige said, giving him a hug. Chris hugged her back, wishing again for coffee. Or chocolate.

"Love you, Aunt Paige. Tell Mom I'll orb her a letter tomorrow morning . . . Afternoon . . . You know what I mean."

Paige laughed and ruffled his hair. "I know, sweetie. Good luck."

And then she was gone. Where did his suitcase go? Here Stupidly Orange Luggage, come here . . . Otherwise his mother would kill him for losing it and he'd be a full Whitelighter, come here . . .

Angelica gripped Prue's hand tightly as they weaved their way through King's Cross Station. "You remember the platform number, right?" she asked nervously. "Just in case I forget it - I think I did. Platform - Platform Nine, maybe?"

Prue snorted. "Nine and Three Quarters, kiddo. Don't worry about it. Worst comes to worst, I astral project there and let someone know you missed the train."

Somehow that didn't make Angelica feel any better. Finding the platform did, however, even if walking through a wall was . . . Creepy at best. Admittedly, the magic radiating off the barrier was awe-worthy, and complete genius. But it was still running through a _brick wall._ That was just a _bit_ far outside any sane, rational human being's comfort zone. Though, that was probably why they put it there: if a normal person saw a kid run through a very solid-looking wall, they'd just think they were seeing things. It was clever, now that Angelica thought about it.

The Platform was packed with only thirty minutes until the train left. Angelica paused when she saw the train, actually - it was an old steam locomotive, right from a Victorian post card. And it was painted bright scarlet. People milled around it busily, some shoving their luggage through windows, which Angelica worried at - it was almost definitely _not _safe. What if it fell on a person's head? Smoke drifted from the engine over everyone's heads, making a thick, dark cloud above them. People chattered everywhere, and a round-faced boy was saying tearfully to an old matronly-looking woman, "Gran, I've lost my toad again . . . "

"Come on," Prue said, putting a hand on Angelica's shoulder. "Let's find you a seat."

They got maybe ten steps before Angelica fell over a bright orange suitcase. "Oww . . . "

"There it is!" came a boy's voice, making Angelica look up in surprise - not because someone was talking, but because the boy sounded _American._

"This monstrosity is yours?" she asked, pushing herself off it. The boy - who had dark hair and green eyes, Angelica noticed; perhaps they ought to form a club with Prue - nodded.

"Yeah. Mom wanted to make sure I wouldn't lose my luggage, so . . . " he shrugged. Angelica his a laugh behind her hand.

"But you lost it anyway," Prue piped in, smiling findly at the two of them. Angelica supposed they must remind her of growing up with her sisters. "Here, let me help you with that. Do you two want to share a compartment?"

The two kids looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay."

Soon after that, Angelica was giving a rather tearful good-bye hug to Prue and glaring at the boy, daring him to say anything about it.

He did, but it wasn't what she was expecting.

"Was that your mom?"

Angelica blinked. "No . . . " she drawled. "Why?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. She looked familiar. You've both got black hair."

"She was my music teacher in Primary school - Elementary to you, Yank - and she babysits me whenever my relatives go somewhere."

"Oh." there was a pause, and then, "My name's Chris Halliwell." He stuck out a hand.

Angelica smiled and shook it. "Angelica Potter," she said. "So what's an American doing at a British school?"

Chris lied easily. Well, half-lied. It was a partially true, and it wasn't like he could come out and say, 'oh, well these dead-but-alive dudes all told me I have to follow you around and make sure you don't get yourself killed fighting demons, just ignore me, you're not supposed to know I'm even there, anyway'. "My mom said she thinks it will be good for me to 'see the world,'" he said, using air-quotes. "Dad didn't argue with her." He shrugged. "A least I don't have to go to school with my brother - he's perfect."

Angelica snorted. "Well I very much doubt _that._ Everyone thinks my pig of a cousin is the gods' gift to humanity, but he's a complete twit. What's your favourite book?"

Chris blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Uh, _The Twits,_ by Ronald Dahl."

"Oh, I love that one!" Angelica said happily. "Mine's _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_."

Chris grinned. "Dahl wrote that one, too."

Angelica nodded. "Yes. Cool, huh? Are you the only wizard in your family?"

Chris hesitated. "Kind of . . . " he said. "Um, my family's Wiccan, but I'm the only one that's been sent to a wizard school. Kind of a shock to find out about it."

Angelica's eyes widened. "Really? Miss Trudoe - the lady you thought was my mom - is a witch. So am I. Small world." She wondered silently if the boy before her was a witch or a practitioner, but decided it was Chris' business to tell her or not. Just like it was hers to tell him.

"Guess so," Chris said with a nod. "What about your parents?"

"Dead," Angelica shrugged. "Were killed when I was a baby. My relatives aren't really religious, and think I'm devil-spawn already." She grinned. "They don't like me much."

"You know that's usually not a good thing, right?"

"Yep . . . But I don't much like them, either, so it's mutual. And ever since I got my letter, they've been too afraid of me turning them into toads in the middle of the night. What house do you want to be in?"

Chris had to think about that for a moment. "Ravenclaw," he said. "I like books."

That made sense to Angelica. "I think I'd like Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. I like learning, but the equality thing that Hufflepuff has seems nice."

The train began to move, and Angelica looked upward to make sure her trunk didn't move and fall down.

"Do you have food?"

That was such a non sequitur that Angelica found herself staring at Chris for a moment before snapping out of it. "Yeah," she said, "Here in my bag." She flipped open her satchel and pulled out a brown paper bag. "Do you like chocolate chip biscuits?"

Chris stared at her incredulously. "Huh?"

"Cookies," Angelica explained. "Do you like chocolate chip cookies? Miss Trudoe made them, they're delicious."

The boy shrugged. Food was food, and chocolate food was always good. "Sure," he said, grabbing one. "They're pretty good."

As they munched on Angelica's sweets, the compartment door slid open to reveal a plump, smiling woman with deep dimples and curly hair fighting to escape the loose bun she'd tied it in. The time had flown by while Angelica nad Chris talked, and it was almost half-past noon, now. "Anything off the trolley, dears?" she asked.

The two children stood up immediately to go over her wares.

"Whoa," Chris said. "British candy's weird."

"British candy," Angelica scoffed, "More like wizard candy."

And indeed, the candy was strange. There were tall boxes with roof-like tops proclaiming their contents to be Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, boxes of Liquorice Wands that looked suspiciously similar to Red Vines. A bowl was overflowing with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, there were sacks of Chocolate Frog boxes, Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, Jelly Slugs, Acid Pops, Fizzing Whizbees, Peppermint Humbugs. There was a water cooler marked 'Pumpkin Juice.' Angelica stared at that.

"Can I get a bit of everything, and a cup of pumpkin juice, please, ma'am?" she asked the woman.

Well, of course she said yes. Twelve sickles and seven Knuts lighter, Angelica laid her hoard on the seat beside her, while Chris did the same with his own treats. They had great fun with the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and the Chocolate Frogs, daring each other to taste the oddly-coloured ones and trading the cards that came alongside the frogs. Angelica had Morgan le Fey, Wendelin the Weird(who frankly freaked both children out, and Chris refused to take the card, even when Angelica gave up all pretences of trading and offered him her turkey sandwich with it), Cornelius Agrippa and Elladora Ketteridge. Chris had Dymphna Furmage, Salazar Slytherin, Flavius Belby and Carlotta Pinkstone.

The two witches unanimously came to the conclusion that wizards were . . . Well, weird.

**AN/AR: *DANCES* Posted three chapters on the second day AND I'm getting to eat a chocolate santa's head tommorrow! YES! - Merc.**


	6. Chapter 6

_The time had flown by while Angelica and Chris talked, and it was almost half-past noon, now. "Anything off the trolley, dears?" she asked. . . . _

_The two witches unanimously came to the conclusion that wizards were . . . Well, weird._

Angelica was daring Chris to eat a funny grey bean when someone knocked on the compartment door and it slid open to reveal the round-faced boy Angelica had seen on the platform earlier. He looked upset, and she stood and put an arm on his shoulder.

"Sorry," he said, before Angelica could ask what was wrong, "but have either of you seen a toad at all?"

When both of them shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"Hey," Angelica said, gripping his shoulders, "He'll turn up. Here, I'll help you look for him." She turned to look at Chris. "Will you watch the compartment so no-one steals anything?"

The boy nodded, giving a sarcastic salute. She stuck her tongue out at him and followed the round-faced boy.

"You don't have to help me," he said quietly when they were out in the hallway. The train shook, and Angelica grabbed a wall lamp for support.

"It's no trouble at all," she told the boy. "Besides, I'm not one to turn down making a new friend. What's your name, by the way? And your toad's?"

The boy gave her a watery smile. "Neville Longbottom. Trevor's my toad." Angelica nodded, and they went to the next set of compartments, Neville checking in one, and Angelica poking her head in the one across from it.

"Excuse me," she said to the group of rowdy teenagers, "have any of you seen a toad? My friend's lost one."

"You're having me on," a girl said from the window, "What idiot brings a toad to school?" Her friends burst out laughing, and Angelica glared at them before slamming the door shut.

But she hadn't even gone to the next compartment before there was a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, Angelica saw a girl about her age with curly brown hair. "Yes?" she asked.

The girl shifted her weight to her other foot. "I haven't seen a toad," she said quickly, "but if you like, I can help you look for it. My name's Hermione, Hermione Granger."

Angelica smiled at her. "Nice to meet you, Hermione. I'm Angelica. Sure. That'll be wonderful. Here, you check this next compartment . . . "

The three of them ended up finding Trevor hiding in the girls' bathroom at the end of the train car. Neville was ecstatic, and both he and Hermione went to go sit in his compartment. They both wanted to be in Gryffindor, and Angelica smiled at Hermione's long rant to Neville that he shouldn't be afraid he wouldn't get in - whoever sorted them would listen to him, certainly. She herself was glad to plop down across from Chris and fall asleep until they reached the school.

But apparently that wasn't in the cards.

The door was opened _again_, and this time a trio of boys entered. Two were thickset and looked rather mean, and between them stood a pale boy with a pointed face. The pale boy stared at Angelica with interest, and she resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Is it true?" he asked. He had a snobby voice and Angelica thought he must be very arrogant. "They're saying all down the train that Angelica Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

Angelica raised an eyebrow. "Yes . . . " she drawled. "And you are?"

The boy drew himself up proudly, and gripped the front of his robes like he was in an old painting from a museum. "My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. These are Crabbe," he jerked his head toward the shorter bodyguard-like boy, "and Goyle." The taller boy.

"Nice to meet you," Angelica said falsely. The boy gave her a prickling feeling on the back of her neck. "This is Chris Halliwell," she said, gesturing to her new friend.

The blond boy sneered. "A Mudblood?" He scoffed. "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wro-"

He never got to finished his sentence, because Chris started laughing. "Come _on,_" he snorted. "Seriously? You know you sound like neo-Nazis, right?"

Draco Malfoy puffed up angrily. Angelica wondered if he even knew what a Nazi was; the wizarding world seemed pretty cut off from the normal one, after all. "How dare you speak to me like that, you filthy Muggle!"

Chris stopped laughing, and suddenly Angelica thought his face was like stone. "Look," he said, "I don't _know_ why blood is so important to you, and I really don't care. But since it matters _so_ much, I can trace my family line back to the 1600s, and not one of my ancestors was evil. So guess what?" Malfoy looked frankly shocked at being disagreed with, and didn't do anything when Chris shoved him out the door. "Get out."

He shut and locked the door, then dropped onto his seat like a sack of potatoes. Angelia bit back a smile. "Temper, temper."

Chris opened one eye to glare at her. Angelica ignored it - she'd seen worse. "Shut up."

"Never."

They were quiet for the rest of the ride, and Angela thought that she wasn't the only one of them to fall asleep as the sky darkened outside to a deep purple. She vaguely noticed mountains and forests before falling asleep.

She woke up to the sound of a voice blaring throughout the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Then she and Chris knocked their heads together.

"Owww . . . " Angelica narrowed her eyed at Chris, but his back was turned and he didn't notice. She rolled her eyes and pulled her robe out of her satchel - silently thanking Prue for making her pack it there instead of in her trunk - and slipped it on over her head. The train pulled to a stop, and Angelica shoved the last of her sweets in her satchel and followed Chris out to join the rambunctious crowd outside in the corridor. People were pushing and shoving, and soon they were thrown out onto the tiny, dark platform. Angelica shivered in the cold night air.

"Firs' years!" a voice rang. "Firs' years over here!"

Angelica turned around to see a lamp bobbing above everyone's heads, illuminating a hairy giant's smiling face.

The first years all slipped and stumbled as they followed the giant man down a tiny, steep path. Nobody spoke much as they walked, but Angelica thought she might have heard Neville sniffle once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" the giant man called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Angelica looked over her shoulder for Chris and grabbed his wrist, dragging him into a boat where a blonde girl with pigtails sat with a cheerful-looking boy holding a book.

"Everyone in?" shouted the giant, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" the giant yelled as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oi, you there! Is this your toad?" asked the giant man, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after the mans lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

The giant raised on of his gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, and it swung open with a loud _creeaak_. Professor McGonagall strode out onto the flagstone steps.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the giant said.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said. "I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

The crowd of eleven year olds all followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Angelica could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall didn't take them in there, instead leading them into a small, empty chamber off the hall. The first years crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly. Tou will be sorted into your Houses before you take your seats in the Great Hall. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be like your family within Hogwarts."

Angelica frowned. She certainly hoped that wasn't meant literally - her relatives were terrible. Shaking herself from her thoughts, Angelica tuned back in to what the Professor was saying.

" . . . The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points.

"At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on some of the less-than-tidy students. Angelica nervously tried to flatten her overly-long bangs. Maybe she ought to have gotten a haircut before coming to school?

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber.

Angelica looked around nervously. How would they be sorted? What if they decided she didn't have the right magic to be a wizard? Would they send her back to the Dursleys? She heard Hermione muttering under her breath, wonder what spells she'd need, thinking it was some sort of test that would sort them.

Then someone screamed.

Angelica jumped about a foot in the air, looking around wildly for but a moment before her eyes fell on them. Twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, the ghosts - for surely, that's what they must be - didn't look at all like the trapped spirits that Angelica had learned about. They glided across the room talking to one another, hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Angela got into line behind Chris, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

**AN/AR: Okay, only one chap today, but . . . c'mon. It's Christmas Eve and I'm with family. May or may not post tomorrow. Not overly in love with this chap, since there's a bit *too* much pawned from the original books in it for my tastes, but I plan to fix that next chapter. Happy Christmas to any Christian readers, - Merc.**


	7. Chapter 7

_Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Angela got into line behind Chris, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall._

_._

The dining hall was beautiful.

Angelica and the other first years looked around in awe at the room, staring at the floating candles lit against the ceiling - "It's enchanted to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History._" - and there, at the very end of the hall, in front of the teacher's table . . .

Was a ratty old hat.

"The Hell?" Chris asked, a little too loudly. A few heads turned to look at him, but Angelica noticed he didn't look at all abashed.

Professor McGonagall stood beside the hat and the stool it rested on, and held open a parchment scroll. Angelica waited for her to call out names, but after a few moments, the old witch hadn't said a word. Angelica looked around to see that all the older students were staring at the hat. A little confused, she did, too. For a moment, there was complete silence. The hat twitched. A rip near the brim rippled and opened. Then -

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
>But don't judge on what you see,<br>I'll eat myself if you can find  
>A smarter hat than me.<em>

_You can keep your bowlers black,  
>Your top hats sleek and tall,<br>For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
>And I can cap them all.<em>

_There's nothing hidden in your head  
>The Sorting Hat can't see,<br>So try me on and I will tell you  
>Where you ought to be.<em>

_You might belong in Gryffindor,  
>Where dwell the brave at heart,<br>Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
>Set Gryffindors apart;<em>

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
>Where they are just and loyal,<br>Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
>And unafraid of toil;<em>

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
>if you've a ready mind,<br>Where those of wit and learning,  
>Will always find their kind;<em>

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
>You'll make your real friends,<br>Those cunning folk use any means  
>To achieve their ends.<em>

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
>And don't get in a flap!<br>You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
>For I'm a Thinking Cap!<em>"

The hall was filled with deafening applause when the hat stopped singing. Professor McGonagall stepped forward and held her scroll a little higher, saying, "When I call your name, you will be put on the Sorting Hat and sit on the still to be sorted . . . Abbot, Hannah!"

The pig-tailed girl from the boat stepped forward nervously. The hat hell right past her eyes. Angelica held her stomach, she felt sick. Daring? Witty? Cunning? She knew very well she wasn't patient . . .

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat roared. The yellow table cheered loudly, welcoming their new member.

And so it went. 'Brown,' 'Boot,' 'Finch-Fletchley' . . . Angelica became more and more nervous with each name called. The prospect of being sorted hadn't seemed near as intimidating when she'd only been reading about it . . .

"Halliwell, Christopher!"

Chris walked forward, and Angelica resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him; was he a public speaker or something? He was barely a little stiff.

At least his hand were shaking.

The hat was on his head for a while before calling out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Angelica smiled - she was glad he'd gotten in one of the houses he'd mentioned liking. She raised her arms and whooped loudly, drawing a few odd looks and a grin from her friend as he sat down at the green table.

'Malfoy'(Poor Chriss. . . He had to share a house with the jerk), 'Moon,' two 'Patil' girls . . . 'Perks' . . .

"Potter, Angelica!"

The hall immediately began buzzing, and Angelica tried not to look scared as she strode up to the hat, gladly letting it tip forward to hide her face, even though she heard the other students laughing at it. She waited, ignoring the whispers - she walked up, didn't she? Of course she was Angelica Potter.

She jumped as a small voice whispered in her ear. "Hmm," it said, "you're difficult, aren't you? Oh, yes, very difficult . . . Quite courageous, a great mind, very clever, and you _do_ enjoy learning, don't you? . . . Not one for jumping in headfirst, I see. Much prefer to find out what you're facing beforehand. Oh, talented, my goodness, yes - and a certain ruthlessness in manner, now that's interesting . . . So where shall I put you?"

Angelica flexed her fingers against the side of the stool nervously. Where to put her, indeed?

"Slytherin or Ravenclaw, Slytherin or Ravenclaw . . . Oh, I know, now." A pause, and the Hat shouted, for all the Hall to hear, "RAVENCLAW!"

Angelica sagged in relief - she'd been sorted. The worst was over. The blue table was screaming loudly, a few people were jumping on the benches lining the sides of the table. A tall boy with glasses was doing the Macarena while the other students yelled, "We got Potter!" over and over again.

Okay, maybe _not_ the worst. She still had to find a seat next to sane people. McGonagall called the next name, and Angelica scurried to the side of the table next to the Slytherins. Her eyes fell on a seat directly across from Chris, and she darted towards it. The brown-haired boy grinned at her and gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled.

Sitting down, she waited for the last of the students to be sorted - 'Zabini, Blaise' was the last, and sent to Slytherin. There was a long moment where Angelica just stared at her plate, wondering when food would be brought out - she'd eaten the last of her sweets in line, waiting to be sorted, and to her stomach the seemed to have been years ago.

Then the headmaster got to his feet. Angelica wanted to groan. She was hungry, dang it!

Dumbledore was beaming, and spread his arms wide in welcome.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Angelica wondered, as he sat and everyone cheered, if the school headmaster was entirely there or not. She slowly turned her head and eyes away from the head table and back to her own.

Only to fall backward off her seat in shock.

The table was piled high with food - roast beef, chicken, pork chops, steak, turkey, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, chips, and even cranberry sauce. While Angelica wouldn't say she had ever been starved by her relatives, the Dursleys never really let her eat as much as she liked. Aunt Petunia generally only gave her small portions of what was left after everyone else was served, and most of the time she skipped lunch. Dudley would take anything she really wanted, even if it made him sick. The only time she was ever able to eat all she wanted was when she ate at Miss Trudoe's.

Angelica grinned, and began serving herself her favourite dishes. It was all delicious.

All too soon, the dinner disappeared, only to be replaced by afters of all kinds. Ice cream - mint chocolate chip, French vanilla, rocky road, strawberry, chocolate, fudge ripple, yum . . . Pies of every flavour, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs(though Angelica didn't like those), strawberries and chocolate, jelly, tarts, pudding . . . Ooh, more cranberry sauce!

Okay, maybe not all too soon.

Angelica bit into her slice of cheesecake, listening to the conversation around her. The fifth years around her paid her little mind aside from sidelong glances, and happily chattered about the classes they were looking forward to. When one mention divination, Angelica spoke up.

"We're required to take divination?" she asked. Personally, it seemed like a good idea to her - even if everyone didn't have visions like Prue's sister Phoebe, anyone could learn to use crystal balls or Tarot cards.

A few of the fifth years laughed, and one with long brown hair snorted. "Oh, thank God not," sh said. "It's all very woolly, and more chance than anything - you can choose to take it in your third year, but if you don't drop it at the end, you have to keep going until you take your O.W.L.s in fifth. Most people just just take it for an easy 'O.'"

Angelica frowned at that, but didn't correct the girl; everyone could have an opinion, whether they were wrong or not. "An 'O'?" she asked instead.

The girl stared at Angelica in shock. "You don't know how the grading system works?" she asked in surprise. "What, have you been living under a rock?"

"_No_," Angelica said tersely, "But I only found out about the wizarding world when I got my Hogwarts letter, and don't know much about it yet."

That caused a buzz - where the heck did everyone get the idea she was living in a foreign castle? And what were house-elves?

Time to set the record straight, it seemed. "I've been living with my non-magical relatives since I was a baby," she said loudly, above the din her housemates were making. "They found me on their front step."

Ruckus growing louder? Check. Angelica covered her left ear with her hand and her right with her shoulder, and continued eating her cake. She was going to have a really, really bad headache before she went to bed.

.

Shockingly, she didn't. She fall asleep in her seat, only waking up when the brown haired girl - Penelope, se said her name was - shook her as the students were dismissed from the hall.

"Wha?" Angelica asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Penelope held onto her shoulder, guiding her up the stairs with the rest of the first year students. "Hurry up," she muttered.

They walked up a tall, tall tower, around and around so much that Angelica became dizzy from it all until, finally, they stood in front of a tall, pointed door, with a bronze eagle knocker. They all stood a moment, and Angelica stared in shock when the knocker _cleared its throat_ and said,

"Hem, hem," in a light, whimsical voice. "I am the beginning of the ends, and the end of time and space. I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. What am I?"

"The letter 'E'," the male Prefect said confidently.

"_Correct_," came the musical voice of the knocker. "You may proceed."

And the door swung open.

"Oooh-ooh!"

The Ravenclaw common room was gorgeous. Angelica instantly thought back to pictures she'd seen in the glossy pages of _Time_ when her class was studying the roman's. Directly across from the door, set into the round walls, was a giant stone arch to a room with bookshelves up to the ceiling. Standing next to the right side of the arch was a white marble statue - Angelica thought it might be a Greek or Roman goddess, until Penelope pointed it out and said it was Rowena Ravenclaw, their House founder.

The rest of the room was all very light and airy, and the domed ceiling was like in the Great Hall, looking open to the stars, although the arches supporting it were visible and helped remind them all that rain wasn't free to drench them at any moment. Pale blue armchairs and chaise lounges were arranged in circles in the middle of the room on the plush midnight blue carpet, with tables set in between and beside them, and where there weren't blue-and-bronze silks framing the tall, arched windows, bookcases tall enough to need ladders stood attached to the walls.

"Now then," Penelope said, after the new students had all had a moment to take everything in, "time for bed, everyone. Girl's dormitories are up the stair to the right, boy's dormitories ar up the stair to the left."

The tired first years sleepily followed her instructions and stumbled up the steps to their rooms - it was quite easy to find them, what with the ivory door having a gold plaque marked 'First Years' on it.

The first year girls' dorm was pretty, Angelica thought as she trudged to the bed by the window, where she was pleased to see her trunk. She dropped her satchel in between the canopy bed and the wall, slowly changing into her night gown before flopping onto the bed and falling asleep.

.

***Toots own horn* Happy Holidays! - Merc.**


	8. Chapter 8

_The first year girls' dorm was pretty, Angelica thought as she trudged to the bed by the window, where she was pleased to see her trunk. She dropped her satchel in between the canopy bed and the wall, slowly changing into her night gown before flopping onto the bed and falling asleep._

.

Angelica woke up early the next morning, as was her habit. Judging by the muffled clamour above her head, she assumed that it wasn't uncommon with Ravenclaw girls. Stretching, she slipped from her bed and walked toward the door across from her. She felt an odd niggling at her mind, but ignored it. _Had the entrance been there last night?_

Oh. It was a bathroom.

Cool. Angelica trotted back to her bed and opened her trunk. Where had she crammed her shampoo in there . . . Finally finding the white plastic toiletry bag and some clothes, Angelica grabbed it and hurried to the bathroom before her roommates could wake up - she wanted first dibs at the shower. She marvelled for a moment over the showers being _exactly_ like a normal one - she hadn't expected the insular-seeming wizarding world to have normal plumbing. She finished her shower quickly, and set about attacking her hair. As always, it was starting to frizz now that it was wet, and she hurried to towel it dry and braid it before it could start curling into a mock-afro around her head. When all that was done, it was six-thirty and she went to wake up her dormmates. Penelope had mentioned something about breakfast at seven . . .

Apparently that wasn't necessary, however. The Ravenclaw first year girls were scrambling around the room, their beds in disarray when Angelica walked in. She blinked, wondering if she should help, before deciding it wasn't her problem. It wasn't like they needed a babysitter, after all. She dropped her bath things in her trunk and grabbed her satchel from beside her bag. She dumped what was in it - a few books and a _lot_ of candy wrappers - onto her bad and grabbed her schoolbooks from her trunk, putting them in instead.

Now to ask a second year where the Great Hall was.

She found a dark-haired boy engrossed in a book, sitting cross-legged next to the common room exit. Walking over, Angelica tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hnn? . . ."

Angelica bit back a laugh - so she wasn't the only bookish person in the world! She tapped him on the shoulder again and asked, "Would you please take me to the Great Hall? I don't know how to get there . . . "

The boy looked up and sighed. "Whatever. Follow me , midget."

She stared at him for a moment while he got up and walked out the door.

"You coming?" he called over his shoulder. Angelica nodded hurriedly and skittered after him. They walked in silence for a few minutes, then the boy asked, "So what's your name?"

"Angelica Potter."

The boy stopped and turned around. Angelica walked into him. "Hey!" she exclaimed.

The boy seemed to snap out of it and held out his hand. "Eddie Carmichael," she introduced himself, nodding his head a little bit. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Potter."

Nodding a little, and very much bemused, Angelica shook his hand gingerly. "Pleasure," she said. Were all wizards going to react like this? She followed Eddie down to the Great Hall, and quickly turned away from him once they got there - he kept looking back over his shoulder at her as they walked down there. She felt like some animal on display in a zoo.

"Angelica!"

She whirled around to see who was calling her, and was relieved to see it was Chris. She smiled and waved at the first person her age she could ever call a friend. "Chris!" she exclaimed, walking over to him. "What's Slytherin like?"

The boy shrugged. "Malfoy's an idiot," he said, as if that explained everything. It didn't, but it made Angelica laugh behind her hand.

"Nice," she laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "And that's all you can say about it? What about your other housemates? Are the dorms nice?"

The stood chatting for a while - Chris absolutely loved his dorm room. The windows were half below the water and half below it, he said. Finally Angelica's stomach rumbled loudly, and the two of them sat at the Ravenclaw table, still talking as they began to eat. Angelica stared at Chris' plate oddly.

"What?" he asked defensively, seeing where she was looking. Angelica shrugged, turning back to her own plate of scrambled eggs.

"Nothing, I suppose . . . But, peanut butter on pancakes?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, it's my favourite. It's not like it's any weirder than ketchup on eggs," he said, nodding to her half-eaten breakfast.

Angelica nodded. "Oh, I'm not saying it is, I just . . . I never expected anyone but Miss Trudoe to actually _think_ of it."

Chris laughed. "You know, I think I'dd like her. She sounds cool."

"You're just saying that because she likes your favourite breakfast."

"Well, _yeah._"

Angelica scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning back to her breakfast. Boys were such weirdoes. Soon, the rest of the Ravenclaw first years were sitting around them, and began to draw Chris and Angelica into their conversation.

"Who's your friend, Potter?" Anthony Goldstein asked. Angelica looked up, swallowed her eggs, and answered,

"This is Chris Halliwell. We met on the train."

Anthony nodded at the boy. Chris gave him a thumbs-up.

Talk turned almost immediately to classes, wondering what they'd be like, and which ones they'd be taking first. Terry Boot was absolutely fascinated by Potions, but was afraid that he'd have a hard time with it - his family were pharmacists, and he worried he'd have to re-learn everything to understand the subject. Mandy Brocklehurst was excited to learn charms, and Su Li wanted to get straight into Transfiguration.

And then there was a tap on Angelica's upper arm. She turned in her seat to see the small Professor, the one she'd seen the night before at the feast.

"Yes, sir?"

The professor straightened a little and introduced himself. "My name is Professor Flitwick, Miss Potter, and I am Head of Ravenclaw House. This is your class schedule. Don't be late!"

Angelica took the small tablet handed to her and examined it. Transfiguration first. Now where was that. She turned it over wondering if maybe the knowledge would somehow magically plant itself in her mind . . .

No. There was an arrow, marked 'head this way.' It was pointing toward the doors. Angelica blinked. And then she grinned - the tablet was absolutely brilliant.

"Chris, look, we have our first . . . . Class . . . Together." She looked around in confusion before asking Michael Corner, "Er, where'd Chris go?"

The boy pointed across the table to the Slytherins, where the Slytherin Head of House was handing out schedules to his own students. Angelica stood and walked over to her friend the moment she saw he had his and tugged on his sleeve.

"Come on, let's go."

"Huh?"

"_Class,_ bozo. We have Transfiguration together next. Come on."

And, though Chris wasn't exactly sure _how_, he got dragged through the castle to the Transfiguration classroom.

.

Whispers followed the two of them all the way up to the Transfiguration hallway. Students that were already lining up outside their classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at Angelica, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring.

She wished they wouldn't, because it was trying enough to concentrate on finding her way to classes with only a tiny blue arrow on a piece of slate without having to weave around people trying to get a good look at her.

According to the _Muggleborn's Guide to Hogwarts,_ there were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. If only the _Guide_ had a map.

The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and the coats of armour could walk, so weren't a good way to figure out where you were or were going. The ghosts were well-known for popping up everywhere, gliding through walls and across the hallways. They weren't quite as bad, though, as the school Poltergeist. Peeves was renowned for pranking people on their way to classes - there was an entire chapter on how to avoid him!

Finally, they reached the Transfiguration classroom. Professor McGonagall . . . Made quite the impression, if nothing else.

Turning desks into pigs tended to do that. Angelica did wonder though, if she wanted to turn a living thing into a desk like that. She thought she'd look it up in the library - were the essences of transfigured animals still essentially whatever they had been transfigured from? Or were they really truly the animals they appeared to be?

It was all very confusing, and that was without trying to turn a match into a needle!

They took lots of notes before that of course, not much different from a non-magical science class, Angelica thought, remembering the day Dudley thought it was clever to try and blow up her desk. Only a few made any difference by the time the class ended - Chris did first, then Su, then Blaise Zabini, and then Angelica got Chris to help her with hers and she got it. Professor McGonagall gave them all five house points each for good spell work, and Chris got five more for helping a classmate.

Angelica glared at her needle . . . Match . . . Thing. It was wooden and square with a red bulb on one end, and round, silver and looped at the other.

The days moved quite quickly after that. Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy(the only class shared with all the four houses) and Herbology . . . All leading up to Friday, and Potions class. Which was frankly terrible.

Honestly, Angelica didn't know what she did, but the moment the teacher walked in, he started tearing into her, even calling her a know-it-all in front of the entire class. He got angry at her when Susan Bones somehow blew up her cauldron, sending shrapnel flying _everywhere_, and took points off of Ravenclaw for the incident. He asked her loads of different questions she only knew half the answers to, and in all truthfulness, Angelica just wanted to cry by the time classes got out. She was halfway to the nearest bathroom, having run out of the classroom the moment the bell rang, when she ran headlong into Chris.

Glaring up at him from the floor tiles, Angelica began pulling herself up, only to be knocked over again when Chris tried to help her up.

"Oh, thanks a _lot,_" she snapped bitingly.

Chris looked at her oddly, shrinking back a little. "Sorry . . . "

Angelica brushed him off. "Bugger off, Chris . . . "

"No."

One simple word. Angelica looked at Chris in confusion. "Beg pardon?"

The boy crossed his arms. "No. I said, 'No.' Look, I don't know what your problem is, Angelica, but you could at least tell me before getting pissed off." There was a long, uncomfortable pause before Chris shifted slightly to his other foot and asked, "What happened?"

That was when the whole story came pouring out, and Angelica somehow found herself sobbing into Chris' shoulder about how she missed Miss Trudoe, she wasn't making any friends in her house, and that Magic was - so - much - _harder_ with wizardry, and she just wanted to go run away and live in the forbidden forest, because at least there she knew not to go near the bow truckle trees unless she wanted to be attacked.

The older boy just rubbed her back awkwardly, patting the back of her head too and muttering over and over 'It's okay . . . It'll be okay . . . Shh-shh-shhh . . . ' Eventually Angelica pulled back, wiping her eyes and cheeks to destroy all evidence of her tears.

"Sorry 'bout that," she muttered, ducking her head and looking away from the boy. "Don't know why I'm so emotional, just forget about it . . . "

Chris stood awkwardly, and Angelica was already walking away when he called out - "Hey, Angelica?"

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"You said you're a witch on the train, right?" he asked, feeling slightly awkward.

Angelica nodded. "I am . . . "

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want to celebrate Mabon with me?"

Angelica blinked. "What?"

"It's just, I've never celebrated it alone before, so I figured that if you wanted to . . . "

Next thing Chris knew, he had an armful of hugging girl.

When Angelica walked away a few minutes later - after they'd decided to meet up in the library later to hammer out the details of how they'd celebrate - he sighed to himself. He hadn't intended to ask her, really he hadn't. But she was crying, and was alone, and Mabon was always the most family-centric holiday at home, his mom always loved it . . .

Maybe he was just a sap when it came to girls crying?

.

**AN/AR: It has been pointed out to me that there may be such a thing as TOO muh posting . . . at least, posting too quickly. So I'm going to be sticking to one update a day or every other day from now on to give people a chance to review and tell me what they thing of how the story is going. Happy Boxing Day, M.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN/AR: To the semi-anonymous charmedluvhestia, since I can't PM you I'll answer here. Yea, I do have two stories up with the title 'Witchcraft,' and yes they're the same story. It's because not everyone checks the crossover archives, and I'm a review glut. : ) I've now put a note up on my profile page explaining that. **

**On another note, Morphidae made the absolutely brilliant suggestion of adding a footnote to explain anything a reader might not get . .. Like what the heck Mabon is. Here goes:**

**Mabon is a Wiccan holiday, or Sabbat, that celebrates the Autumn Equinox, one of the two days where the day and night are exactly equal. It is also the name of a Welsh god, Mabon ap Modron, and began being used for the holiday around 1970. Mabon is the second of the three Wiccan harvest festivals, and is sometimes called by American Wiccans the Witches Thanksgiving, because it's a time to give thanks. (Yes, that sentence is semi-redundant, I know) It's a time for feasting, community, and kinship. A lot of Pagan Pride Days are held around Mabon.**

**Hope that clears some things up a bit - M.**

.

_Chris rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want to celebrate Mabon with me?"_

_Next thing Chris knew, he had an armful of hugging girl._

_Maybe he was just a sap when it came to girls crying?_

.

Later that night as she was heading in to the Great Hall, Angelica was surprised to be intercepted by Chris, who was holding a gold plate from one of the tabled, piled high and covered with a pair of white serviettes. He grabbed her shoulder and nodded back at the hall. "Someone set off a bunch of fireworks," he said. "The eachers can't get them to stop exploding. Let's eat in the library."

Angelica raised her eyebrows. Did Chris _want_ to be killed by the book-avenging Valkyrie that was the school librarian? "Madam Pince would use out intestines to decorate the library," she said, only half serious.

Chris shook his head. "She won't. She's trying to help fix the fireworks in the Hall. So . . . Wanna come?"

The dark haired girl shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"

So thus they went off, getting lost multiple times until Angelica walked into Chris, making him drop all the food . . . Or at least that's what Angelica thought was about to happen. It didn't.

Chris held out his hand as if on instinct, and the plate zoomed back into his hands, perfectly fine. He watched Angelica as if wondering what her reaction would be, but somehow, she didn't think he was afraid she'd react badly. How odd; she was fairly sure that he wasn't an optimist. She grabbed his arm and pulled him down to sit, and took the plate from him.

"Well, I suppose that answers my question of whether you're a practitioner or not," she said, setting the napkins down and dishing out the food - ooh, he got Yorkshire pudding, her favourite.

And that was that. They finished their food and somehow managed to find the Great hall again to drop off their plate and grab dessert, the fireworks having been gotten rid of while they were gone. But they never did get to the library.

.

Saturday morning after Angelica woke up, she decided it was time she wrote Prue a letter - their mind link only flared up when one of them got hurt or was in danger, so it wasn't as if she could just mentally knock on a door and say _Hey, Prue? Anybody home? _Besides which, she missed Prue, and maybe the older witch would be able to give her advice on how to make friends? She was uncomfortable with most of her classmates. They stared at her and pointed at her scar - when she tried talking, they just stared. It wasn't like she was a movie star or anything. She just was too stupid to figure out how to die as a baby and Voldemort had to show her, since she mustn't have paid attention when her parents did it.

So, the short first year grabbed the stationary Prue had given her for Yule* two years ago, a pen, and started writing.

_Dear Prue,_

_I miss you. I guess that's a silly way to start a letter, but it's true. Wizard school is fascinating, and some of the things they can do with just a word and a wave of their wand . . . I've even read that a wizard can learn to cast spells silently, or without a wand. That's supposed to be nearly impossible, though - maybe I'll have a talent for it?_

_There's no music class here. *Smiles* You must be cringing right now, Prue. But there is a chorus, I think - some of my housemates were talking about Professor Flitwick sponsoring it - they're hoping to convince the headmaster to stop making us sing the school song every year if the chorus sings instead._

_Oh! Speaking of houses. I'm in Ravenclaw, the 'geeky' house. You're supposed to be really clever, or witty, to get in. I'm not so sure that's true though . . . My classmates act like complete idiots when I try to talk to them. I have made one friend, though - Chris. I met him on the train. He's a Slytherin - known for their cunning, ruthlessness, and ambition. Not many people like them, and judging by some of the louder members of the house, I can see why. Draco Malfoy's a complete prat._

_Anyway. Chris is he boy who's luggage I tripped over - you might remember him, the American? With the ghastly orange suitcase? He's really nice, and a witch, too. I never expected to meet one here. We're going to celebrate Mabon together, but we're not sure how to do it. His mum always put together celebrations when he was at home, and I've always celebrated with you, so we're piecing the riual together mostly by memory and what feels right._

_How have you been? Better now that Dudley and his friends aren't at school? Did a Year One student stick gum on the piano again?_

_I hope you've been good. Lots of love,_

_Angie._

_(P.S. - The owls stay around if you give them treats, like bacon, bread, or ham. No bird meat, though! That way you can send me a return letter._

_(P.P.S. - Umm . . . How do I make friends?)_

Biting her lip nervously, Angelica looked over her letter. It seemed okay . . . Maybe she should have added the post-post script? But it was right under the post script, so she couldn't tear it off, and it would look funny if she scribbled it off - Miss Trudoe would ask her what was wrong, and then she'd have to tell her all about only having one friend. True, it was more than she'd ever had before, but still, she'd hoped to have at least one that was a _girl_ . . .

Maybe she was greedy.

Shrugging, Angelica grabbed a jar of sand from the box of writing supplies she'd gotten at the stationary shop in Diagon Alley and sprinkled some over the page to absorb the ink and make it dry faster. Once it had, she dusted off the paper, tore it out of her notebook, and stuck it in an envelope, closing it with a quick lick of her tongue.

Now. How to get to the Owlery . . .

.

A few hours later found Angelica sitting on a table in the library, talking to Chris and pretending she was tall. Chris sat beside her, a spiral-bound notebook in his left hand, a pen in his right, jotting down notes as they tried to settle on what to do for the upcoming holiday.

"My mom always makes bread," he was saying. "Lots and lots of bread, and she somehow bakes it so that there's a picture of the god or of wheat on it."

Angelica gave him a long look. "I can't cook that well, I'm not a chef and would have no clue where to start. Do you know how she does it?"

Chris looked to the side. "Umm . . . No."

"So how about just a normal loaf of bread to have after the ritual?" Angelica suggested. "Do you like banana bread? Mine's really delicious."

The Halliwell boy nodded, and Angelica continued talking, half o him, and half to herself.

"A few years ago Miss Trudoe and I had a harvest rite with apples. Maybe we could do something similar?"

"Yeah?" Chris asked. "How?"

Angelica paused, thinking back. "Well . . . We decorated the altar with little miniature pumpkins and two corn dollies, one for the god and one for the goddess. Miss Trudoe hollowed out a couple of apples to use as candle holders. We had two orange candles to symbolise the harvest, a cup of cider, and an apple each. I don't quite remember all of it, but Miss Trudoe keeps a written copy of each ritual in her non-demon Book of Shadows. I can ask her for a copy, if you like."

Chris nodded. "That sounds fine." He smiled slightly, and Angelica nudged him.

"What? You think it's silly?" She sounded slightly cross, like she was trying not to be, but was all the same.

The boy shook his head slowly. "No, it's just . . . It sounds like something my Aunt Phoebe would cook up."

Angelica grinned. "Well," she said, "great minds _do_ think alike!"

The two burst out laughing and began pouring over their notes again, each adding a suggestion somewhere, and crossing a few things out - like making preserves the day of the holiday. Both of them usually did - Chris' mother loved making them for her restaurant and friends - but they didn't know where they'd be able to this year, so it wouldn't be done. Maybe if they could find the school kitchens . . .

All too soon Madam Pince came and told them it was thirty minutes to curfew, and they had best start heading to their dorm. The dark-haired duo wasn't happy, but neither wanted to be caught out of bed, and the library was closing anyway. So they parted ways and set off to their dorms, Angelica going upward one way, and Chris going down the other.

Angelica didn't even bother to change into her nightdress - the overly-long thing was a nuisance, anyway, she thought at the moment - before flopping onto her bed and just falling asleep.

.

On Monday, Angelica was walking out the common room door when she saw a large, bright yellow paper stuck onto the message board, covering all the usual notices about club meetings, tutoring offers, and Hogsmeade weekend dates. Curious, she walked over to read it.

FLYING LESSONS

BEGINNING THURSDAY  
>September 14, 2001<br>First Year Ravenclaws will have  
>Flying Lessons on the lawn<br>at 2 PM with Hufflepuff  
>DON'T BE LATE!<p>

Flying? Flying with what? Angelica furrowed her brow for a moment before it clicked.

Oh, no. That old cliché _couldn't _have any actual basis, could it? Broomsticks? Seriously? The messy-haired girl shook her head and walked out the door, firmly convinced that wizards were absolutely flipping nuts. She grabbed her breakfast from the Ravenclaw table, and sat down at the Slytherin table to wait for Chris and avoid her housemates' 'what kind of bug are you?' stares, like usual. One thing happened, however, that was distinctly _not_ usual.

A Slytherin that was not named Christopher Halliwell chose to talk to her. Weird.

"Why do you sit here, Potter?"

Angelica looked up from her plate and across the table at the speaker. It was a girl with caramel-blonde hair, pulled back at the front and braided to the back. She had freckles. She also looked unhappy that Angelica wasn't answering her.

"Potter? Are you deaf?"

The dark-haired girl shook her head. "No . . . " she drew out. "But I am wondering why you're asking me that. And what your name is, because I don't remember it." Yes, she was blunt in the mornings.

The girl shrugged. "Because it's strange for anyone not a Slytherin to sit at our table, and you do it every day. My name's Tracy Davis," she said blithely, sticking out a hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Not believing for a moment that was the only reason, Angelica shook the other girl's hand and said, choosing her words carefully, "Pleasure. I'm Angelica Potter, but I take it you already knew that. I sit here because my friend Chris is a Slytherin, and no one here stares at me like they want to dissect me and preserve my innards."

"No," Tracy drawled, giving an odd sort of half-smile, "We just want to trick you into doing out bidding for us and then taking the blame if anything should go wrong."

Angelica smiled. "I'd expect nothing less. Expect the same."

Tracy looked surprised for a moment, but didn't say anything. Chris showed up then, and the two girls turned away from one another, and to their friends to talk.

"So," Chris said in a sarcastically cheerful tone of voice. "Who's excited for Professor McGonagall's class?" Angelica rolled her eyes at him.

"Just because she called you out on transfiguring Malfoy's needle back into a match every time he almost had it . . . "

He just stuck his tongue out at her.

"Eat you pancakes, you twit."

**.**

**AN/AR: Yule is another Wiccan holiday, usually celebrated on December 21****st,****. It's the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. Essentially, it's a festival of light, much like Hanukkah or Christmas. You're not supposed to be alone then, and it's a time for family and friends and gift-giving. It's when you look forward to the spring to come, and the end of all that snow piling up on your front step, much as the kids may love playing in it.**

**Credit for the apple harvest rite goes to Patti Wigington at About Paganism/Wicca.**


	10. Chapter 10

_FLYING LESSONS_

_BEGINNING THURSDAY  
>September 14, 2001<br>First Year Ravenclaws will have  
>Flying Lessons on the lawn<br>at 2 PM with Hufflepuff '  
>DON<em>_T BE LATE!_

.

Chris was forcing Angelica to make friends.

She wasn't totally sure why; was it normal friend behaviour to make your friends make other friends? Angelica didn't know, but somehow she thought not.

Maybe Chris was just weird.

After he'd seen her and Tracy . . . chatting, at the Slytherin table, he'd taken it upon himself to drag the two of them into a conversation together. Both girls were entirely bemused by it - in Tracy's case, because Chris rarely, if ever said a word to her before that, and Angelica because she knew it was out of character for her friend. In her opinion nothing smelled fishy. It smelled . . . snakey.

Angelica paused as she realised what she'd just thought.

Merlin, that was a terrible pun.

The Potter girl blinked a little and turned back to the conversation at hand. Or rather, the boasting fest. She was sitting at the Ravenclaw table for once because Chris had managed to land himself in detention for 'skipping' Astronomy class Wednesday night because he fell asleep.

"I'm telling you, I nearly hit a Muggle airy-plane!"

"It's an _aeroplane,_ Michael . . . . "

"Ha! As if! You'd have heard it from way off! _I_ flew my broomstick through a a hurricane, once."

"You're a liar, Mandy, you'd have died before you flew through a hurricane!"

"Well I can top all of you - I once went to a Holyhead Harpies practise because my cousin Mei was watching me and is on the team, and they let me fly with them. I blocked two goals from Wilda Griffiths herself!"

Angelica really didn't see what all the fuss was about - you sat on a broom and it moved. Whoopee. She could do the same thing with a quarter outside any five-and-dime store on a children's ride. Admittedly, she didn't see what was so great about car racing, either, so maybe it was like that . . . . Quidditch was like watching cars turn left and left and left until they crashed, and normal flying was speeding when you didn't think you'd get caught.

. . . She still didn't get the appeal of it, though.

After they finished their lunches, the Ravenclaw first years as one made their way down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

No-one was there yet, except the woman Angelica assumed to be Madam Hooch, the flying instructor. She was a young-looking woman, though she had grey hair, and she had hawkish features, even yellow eyes.

The Hufflepuffs soon arrived, and Madam Hooch got right to it.

"Well, what are you all waiting for? An invitation?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

They all hurried to their brooms. Angelica looked down at hers warily. It was old, with twigs both broken and sticking out at funny angles. Wizards flew on _these?_ She'd been hoping for one out of _Halloweentown_. Those ones were cool.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP" everyone shouted.

Angelica's broom jumped right into her hand, much to her own shock, but it was one of the few that did. Most other people's rose a little before falling, rolled around, or just didn't move at all.

Once everyone had called up their broom, Madam Hooch began showing them how to mount their brooms without falling off the end, and walked between the two rows of students, correcting their grips.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two — one —" Her whistle was sharp and shrill, and the first years launched into the air. They stayed their a moment, looks of obvious excitement on their faces, totally delighted at being up in the air, before all touching down again.

Silently, Angelica re-evaluated her opinion of flying. Oh, it was still horrible cliché, but . . . She smiled slightly. It was brilliant, the best feeling in the world.

At the end of class, they were all allowed to fly freely, and Angelica had to resist letting out a whoop. This was something she could do without being taught, this was something that was easy, something _wonderful_. And she absolutely was ecstatic over it.

But all good things come to an end, and so Angelica and the other first years had to go back to the ground and begin their trek up to the castle. The Slytherins and Gryffindors had their first flying class next, and neither the Hufflepuffs nor the Ravenclaws wanted to stick around for _that_. The two houses absolutely hated each other, and Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy kept getting caught trying to hex each other.

Still, it did end up being a surprise when Angelica looked up at four o'clock and saw Hermione storming into the library. They hadn't spoken much since the train ride - they didn't share any classes but History of Magic and Astronomy, neither of which were good for interacting with each other. They did chat in the library from time to time, but Angelica unfortunately didn't see the girl as a friend. She half-rose in her seat, thinking that perhaps they could talk, but Hermione breezed by her, not even noticing Angelica was there at all, muttering about stupid boys and broke necks.

Wait, Angelica thought. Shouldn't the Gryffindors, and thus Hermione, still be in their flying class? And where was Neville? Usually he and Hermione were inseparable.

Angelica got at least a little more clued in half an hour later, when Chris strolled into the library and slung his bag on their table before flopping into the chair across from her. She looked up from her book to see him waiting patiently, leaning on his forearms, for her to finish her page. She closed her book and set it aside. "Yes?"

Chris grinned. "So how did _your_ flying lesson go?" he asked. Angelica didn't get a chance to answer as he rambled on. "Not nearly as exciting as mine, I'll bet."

Angelica arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Go on, tell me. No need to be shy."

"Ron fall off his broom," Chris shrugged. "So did Neville. Draco's strutting around like an idiot." He sat back and smiled innocently at his friend.

"You take too much enjoyment out of that sort of thing," Angelica said flatly. "So, was I the only one that was completely thrown for a loop in Potions yesterday? I thought that the potion would need to add bittersweet, to counterbalance the properties of the hippogriff's eye, but we didn't, and the healing potion turned out fine."

Chris thought for a moment before answering. "I didn't think of it, but I think adding it would make the potion more stable, less likely to explode."

The female witch grinned. "Yay. Anything else new? I got a letter back from Miss Trudoe."

"That's great. I found a good place for us to hold the ritual, actually. It's not far into the forest. There's a big round clearing, and it feels perfect."

"That's great, Chris! Come one, let's go to it!"

Laughing, the boy agreed to take her to the clearing - it was a few hours until dinner, anyway.

Once they were there, Angelica couldn't help but think that Chris was right - this was the perfect spot. It was large, perhaps thirty feet in diameter, and was nice and private, a twelve minute slow walk into the forest. The grass was tall with flowers popping up all over, but someone - she suspected Chris - had pulled everything up for about four feet around a large, flat boulder in the centre of the clearing that would be perfect to use as an altar*. The torn-up grass had all been braided into long cords that want around the top of the boulder.

"Chris," Angelica said slowly, "I could _kiss_ you right now."

The boy made a disgusted face, much to Angelica's irritation. "EW! No way!"

_Boys._

.

The next day, Hermione was fuming, and Angelica decided to ask her what was wrong before she broke a book or something.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione spat.. "I don't know what's wrong with him! He was going to have completely _stupid_ 'Midnight Duel' with that Malfoy boy, and dragged me into it! And when Malfoy didn't show up and Filch came instead - " Angelica nodded. That sounded like something a Slytherin would do. " - he dragged me and Dean Thomas half the way across the school, past Peeves, and into the third floor corridor! There's a dog there! With three heads! _It's as tall as the ceiling!_" Hermione's voice grew very shrill on the last sentence, and Angelica had to cover her ears. When it became clear that Hermione wasn't speaking any longer, and was waiting for an answer, Angelica lowered her hands.

"Three headed dog?" she asked rhetorically. "I've heard of those . . . Do you know Greek mythology?"

Hermione nodded. "Some, yes."

Angelica nodded. "Good, that makes it easier. There's a dog with three heads in it, the Cerberus. It's the child of Echidna and Typhon, and brother to Othrus, a two-headed hellhound. Some sources say that each of the Cerberus' heads sees something different - one sees the past, the other the present, and the last sees the future. The Cerberus only eats live meat, and is Hades' loyal guard dog to the gates of the Underworld. Capturing Cerberus alive, without using any weapons, was Hercules final labour."

The Gryffindor girl blinked. "How do you know all of that?"

Angelica blushed. "I always liked mythology." She shook her head and went on, back to the original subject they'd been talking about. "At any rate, I wouldn't doubt it if the Cerberus were real, so we may want to check the magical creatures section. Come on."

The two girls ran to the Care of Magical Creatures section, and began pulling down books. Hermione was the one to find it.

"Here it is!" She cried. Angelica put _One Thousand Beasts Unknown to Muggles_ and sat down beside the other girl, looking over her shoulder at the page as Hermione ran her finger along it, reading aloud.

"A Cerberus is a magical hound of Greek origin, and the species is well-known for it's prowess as a guard dog. Having three heads, it is highly aggressive when it or what it's guarding is threatened, and it is not suggested to cross one. Given a XXXXX rating by the Ministry of Magic. Known to, in some cases, fall asleep when music is played." Hermione looked away from the book at Angelica. "But what could it be guarding?"

Angelica bit her lip, thinking. "Maybe . . . Maybe it's guarding something for the school? Professor Flitwick got a bit side-tracked talking a bout ward stones last class: maybe the school's is getting old and needs to be protected while a newer, stronger one is created?"

"Possibly . . . " Hermione said, nibbling on a finger nail. "I'll keep an eye out. Thank you for helping me, Angelica."

The Ravenclaw nodded. "Yeah . . . Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to be friends?" Angelica winced slightly - that was too blunt, Hermione would think she was the biggest dork ever, now . . .

But she didn't. Hermione, on the contrary, lit up and _beamed_ at Angelica. "Yes!" she squealed. "I'd love to be friends!" She stepped forward and hugged Angelica tightly.

Angelica smiled. She had a friend a _girl_ friend.

Things were looking up.

.

**AN/AR: An altar is pretty much what it sounds like. It's usually where rituals are held, spells are cast, etc. It can be anything from a shoebox that can hold all the ritual tools and carried around until it needs to be set up, to a boulder(:D) to a coffee table to . . . You get the point. It's a flat surface used for religious purposes. There's generally a candle on one side for the god and on the other side for the goddess. Sometimes there will be a figuring representing them, too. It generally faces either North or East. In the centre there's usually a pentacle. **

**You can find out more about all the Wiccan stuff I reference at : paganwiccan . About. Com Just take out the spaces by the periods.**

**And . . . yeah. Finished the chap, and couldn't resist posting. Oops?**

**- Merc.**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN/AR: Okay! Yeah . . . I think FFNet's having problems, because lamant sent me a PM saying that the review option has stopped working, and my sister and I are both having the irritating little problem of being told there's a review . . . but FFNet can't find the review for us to reply to it. :/ I'm sorry! - Merc.**

_Angelica smiled. She had a friend, a _girl _friend._

_Things were looking up._

.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HERMIONE!" Angelica exclaimed, holding out a brightly wrapped purple box. The gold bow was falling off, but if Hermione's beaming face was anything to go by, that didn't really matter to her.

"You got me a birthday present?" Hermione asked. "But . . . We've only been friends for a week!"

Angelica nodded. "Yup! Open it, please? I'm sure you'll love it."

Hermione's grin grew wider and she took the package, shaking it beside her ear for a moment before setting it on the table behind her and carefully unwrapping it. At the top of the box was a large brown leather-bound book with a thick vine border tooled into the cover. At the top centre a brass heart with the letters 'H.G.' engraved gleamed proudly in the library's light. Hermione stared at it dumbly for a moment before gingerly pulling it out and opening the front cover.

'_This journal belongs to the lovely Hermione Granger_' was written in gold pigment on the pale lavender paper, with '_September 19, 2001_' below it. Below that was a small rhyme that made Hermione laugh.

'_All those that would see  
>The secrets in this journal be,<br>That would read but never wrote,  
>Shall see their faces purple bloat.<em>'

The Gryffindor shook her head, smiling. "I've never had a journal before," she told Angelica, smiling. "Where did you get it? It can't be handmade."

Angelica smiled. "I sent a letter and some money to a friend of mine back home, she bought it for me and sent it so I could give it to you. She sent me a gold ink pen, too, so I could write that."

The next thing Angelica knew, she had an armful of hugging Gryffindor.

"Angelica, you're the best friend in the world!" Hermione said happily, still clutching her book. She went to put the journal away in it's box, but saw there was one more thing inside. A spiral-bound book with a clear plastic pouch full of beads and different coloured thread. The title cheerfully proclaimed in uneven letters 'KLUTZ - Friendship Bracelets.'

Suddenly Angelica was being hugged again.

.

After Hermione's birthday, Angelica could hardly wait for Mabon. It was on the twenty-second that year (Muggle calendars reminded one of so many things to make life easier - neither Angelica nor Chris had been sure if it was on the twenty-first or not, and since the twenty-first being a Friday meant they could celebrate then, they wanted to be accurate) and Angelica found herself bringing the holiday indoors, much to a few of her roommate's consternation.

The bed posts were decorated with brightly-coloured leaves Angelica had found outside and strung onto some thread she'd borrowed from a fifth-year girl. She had God's Eyes dangling from her footrest. Her bedside table had her scales standing on it proudly, with a candle on either side of it - one black, one white - and in front of he wall sat a basket of apples, tiny pumpkins that Hagrid, the groundskeeper, had given her, saying they weren't going to grow big enough for what he needed, and a few ears of corn she'd nicked from where she saw them on the ground in Hagrid's garden.

To make a long story short, she'd brought the outdoors indoors, and it was upsetting the four girls she shared a room with.

"You do realise we know where you sleep, don't you?" Mandy Brocklehurst asked Thursday morning, glaring at Angelica's bed. "And that we have access to you every night?"

Angelica nodded. "Yes . . . But none of you have told me why the decorations annoy you. I mean, it's _autumn!_ It's _nice_ outside, the leaves are changing colours, we get pumpkin pie for dessert every other night! Isn't it exciting?"

The other Ravenclaw girl stared at Angelica like she was insane. "It's _dirty,_" she said disgustedly. "What if all that dirt from your-your _leaves_ and your _pumpkins_ got on my clothes? Or my books? It's unsanitary!"

Angelica set her jaw stubbornly. "Have you told Professor Flitwick about it?" At the other girl's nod, Angelica asked, "What did he have to say about it? That there was nothing wrong and he couldn't make me take them down, right? I asked him before I put them up - they're perfectly allowed."

Mandy huffed, turned on her heel, and flounced out of the room. Angelica sighed. Maybe she ought to have asked the Hat to sort her somewhere else . . .

Finally Saturday came, and Angelica dashed out of the dorm room to meet Chris by the entrance to the school dungeons, hopping up and down excitedly. When Chris trudged out a half hour later, she grabbed him by the wrist and tried drag him out the main doors and onto the grounds.

Unfortunately, when he realised this would prevent him from getting breakfast, he resisted. So, they grabbed some toast and apple juice from the Great Hall and _finally_ made their way out on to the grounds and toward their clearing.

"Come on, Chris!" Angelica said between wolfed-down mouthfuls of her own toast, "Hurry up and eat so we can dig the ditch for the bonfire."

The boy ignored her, perfectly happy to eat his food at a normal pace and sip his orange juice.

"_Uhhhgg!_" Angelica grunted, flopping backward onto the ground. "You're doing this just to annoy me!"

"Yup," Chris said, nibbling his next piece of toast into a triangle across the middle.

Angelica bolted upward and glared at him. "You're mean!"

"Thank you."

"_Boys_ . . . " the Ravenclaw girl muttered. After a moment, she got to her feet, brushed off her skirt and her legs, and stalked off over to where they had marked the area for the bonfire, her nose in the air. Chris chuckled as he watched her go. Sometimes it was just too easy to get his Ravenclaw friend riled.

As she examined the grass-less rectangle, and the pile of grass - now dead - that she and Chris had pulled up the day before, she supposed that maybe they might have wanted to start this earlier, just in case they didn't manage to finish. Still, there was no choice left now, so Angelica got down on her knees and started digging out the dirt.

Chris finished his food a few minutes later . . . After angelica 'accidentally' tossed some dirt over her shoulder, and it hit his food and drink. He rolled his eyes when she grinned and waved her fingers at him, walking to the other side of the marked area and holding out his hand.

Suddenly, Angelica was covered in dirt, and Chris was laughing.

"CHRISTOPHER HALLIWELL!" Angelica shrieked. Chris didn't answer, he just started cracking up even more, having to clutch his sides to keep from falling over. "Ooooh!" Angelica glared at him. Stupid, annoying, already with an active power _boys!_ Angrily, Angelica stood up, her wand out, and shouted, "_Flipendo!_"

Chris was knocked backward with a yelp, and he got up himself. He scowled and waved his hand, knocking Angelica off her feet. "What the hell?" he yelled angrily.

Angelica glowered at him. "_Petrificus Total-_"

Chris jerk his arm upward, and Angelica found herself in the air, struggling to get down again.

"Angie!" the boy barked. "Quit it! It was a fucking joke!"

It was the swearing that gave Angelica pause. She stopped struggling, just crossing her arms now, and glowered at him. "You dumped dirt on me," she muttered quietly. "I got enough of that in Primary school."

Chris' shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair. "So why did you do it to me, huh? That's not fair, Angelica! Okay? It's just not. I'm gonna let you down now, got it? And we're not going to fight, are we?"

"No," was the ashamed answered.

"Good." Chris lowered his hand slowly, and Angelica was gently set on the ground. "Now let's get back to digging this ditch."

Angelica sent him a small, awkward smile. "Yeah. Let's."

And so they did. It took about two hours or so to get the six foot by four foot area dug about six inched down by hand, and then the two witches were too exhausted to start moving the dirt that way, too. Chris, bless him, moved the piles of the stuff telekinetically to the edge of the clearing. After that, the two of them flopped down in the ditch, not willing to go out and start collecting wood for the bonfire yet.

Angelica thought that they must have fallen asleep, however, because she woke up to find an arrow in her face, and the sun was on the opposite side of sky that it had been before. It must be afternoon, now.

But back to the arrow in her face.

It was being help by a man . . . At least, he was a man from the torso and up. The lower half of his body was that of a horse. He was very, very tall, Angelica thought, perhaps seven feet or so, and had a wild look about him. He had black hair and a black body, with a wiry, curled black beard. He had tan skin and his dark eyes look unfriendly.

"What are you doing in the forest, human?" He asked roughly, pushing his bow and arrow closer to her. Angelica shrunk down and tried not to gulp. She looked to her left, where Chris was still sleeping.

"We - Chris and I - came here to dig the ditch for the bonfire we were going to have at our Equinox celebration," she said quickly. He probably wouldn't have any clue what Mabon was, but Centaurs . . . They were really big on astrology, they'd know about the equinox.

The centaur glared at her. Angelica started running through spells, trying to think of one that could get her and Chris to safety. She knew that Prue had put one in her Book of Shadows, something to do with smoke . . . No, that one was a potion! She grabbed Chris' hand nervously.

"Wizards do not observe equinox's," the centaur spat.

Angelica shook her head. "They don't, but witches do. I'm a witch and so is he."

The centaur spat. "Bah! He is a wizard, it is plain to look at him!"

She had no clue what to say to that - what, was she supposed to get into a lecture about her and Chris' religious beliefs to convince some barmy madman that she wasn't doing anything wrong? Luckily, however, she didn't have to. At that moment, galloping was heard heading toward them, and Angelica turned her head toward the noise. A dark red centaur - Angelica half-lucidly thought he looked like a stereotypical Irishman - was galloping toward them.

"Bane," he asked, in a slow, disappointed voice, "What are you doing? These are younglings."

The black centaur - Bane, apparently - snorted, and stamped his hooves. "They are trespassing, Ronan!"

Ronan shook his head mournfully. "We do not harm foals, Bane." He seemed very empathetic about that, and gave Bane what Angelica assumed was for him a hard look. "Leave them be and come back to the colony. They harm nothing, Bane."

Bane shook his head vigourously. "This one has already admitted that they will set fire to the forest!" he shouted.

"That's a lie!" Angelica yelled before she could stop herself. Well, she actually probably _wouldn't_ have stopped herself, but she said it before she could think about what she was going to say. "I said we were going to light a bonfire! The only thing that will burn is wood that's already fallen off of trees! That's why we were digging this ditch all morning and pulling grass out from around it, so nothing would get hurt!"

Ronan watched her for a long, long moment, and nodded. "She speaks truly, Bane," he said dolefully. "Remove your weapon from her."

Bane didn't look happy about it, but pulled back his bow and his arrow went into the quiver on his back. After they had gone, a thought struck Angelica.

How in the world had Chris slept through all that?

Sighing, she shook him awake, and told him about the exchange. "Now come on," she said once the tale was through, "let's get the firewood. I want to start the ritual _before _sunset, thank you."


	12. Chapter 12

_Sighing, Angelica shook Chris awake, and told him about her exchange with the centaurs. "Now come on," she said, "let's get the firewood. I want to start the ritual before sunset, thank you."_

.

The sun was just beginning to set and the light outside was pale orange when Angelica and Chris cast their circle and called the four quarters* for the ritual. The altar was covered around the edges with fall leaves, nuts, and a blackberry vine Chris had found while they collected wood. The little pumpkins and corn from Angelica's dorm room were placed in the corners. They were using wooden figurines Chris had brought from home: on the right side was a miniature man with horn like a stag, and on the left was a curvy woman with her palm held together above her head. Beside the figurines were candles - a black one by the goddess, and a white one for the god. They were both being held up in carved out apples. In between the two were two orange harvest candles, and on either side of the altar there was an apple, a goblet of cider and a plate of pumpkin muffins.

The two young witches looked at each other nervously. Chris looked back at the altar first, and Angelica lit the black candle, saying, "A balance of night and day, a balance of light and dark. Tonight we seek balance in our lives as is found all around us. A black candle for the goddess, the mother, both joyful and stern."

Chris was next, and lit the white candle, saying, "A white candle for light, and for joy and for the god, the father, both gentle and firm. At Mabon, the time of the equinox, there is harmony and balance in the Universe, and so there shall be in our lives."

Both children took an apple from the side nearest them and held it in both hands, raising it to the sky and saying, "The apple is sacred, a symbol of the gods, and holds the knowledge of the ancients inside. Tonight we ask the gods to bless us with their wisdom." They each sliced their apple in half across the middle. Angelica smiled when she saw the star inside, and the two of them places the apple halves on the altar.

"Five points in a star, hidden inside," they said together. "One for Earth, one for air, one for fire, one for water, one for spirit . . . "

.

When the ritual ended, Angelica and Chris just sat there for a long moment, taking in the heady feeling their celebration had caused. It was dark out, now, and the not quite half moon hung low in the sky, barely visible above the trees. Soon, however, they opened the circle and just sat down beside the bonfire, which had grown very tall while they were holding their ritual, basking in the warmth from it.

"Best Mabon ritual ever," Angelica declared.

Chris scoffed lightly, smiling a little. "I bet you say that every year."

Angelica nodded, grinning. "That's because they get better every year, but I never know if that will happen again. So far as I know, it _is_ the best ever."

The boy just laughed, long and loud.

"It's still the best Mabon ever."

Neither noticed a centaur watching them from the edge of the clearing, and all too quickly, they thought, the fire burned out and they had to walk back up to the castle. Perhaps it was a good thing, however - it was nearly curfew, and they _would_ get in trouble if it was found out that they were out in the forbidden forest at all, not even to think about the lateness of the hour.

.

_Nasturtium Boulevard, Little WhingingOctober 30_

Prue stretched tiredly as she orbed into her house. It was . . . She glanced at the grandfather clock she'd bought, just because she was a sap and it reminded her of the Manor. 2 o'clock in the morning. Huh. A few years ago, that wouldn't have been late at all for her. Shrugging, she walked up to her office and wrote a quick note in one of her spiral-bound notebooks about the demon her charge had faced just a few minutes earlier. She'd make a better looking entry in her Book of Shadows tomorrow. She smiled a little, thinking back to when she and her sister's were fighting demons together. Did they still fight evil? Or had they given up?

Prue thought Piper might have, but Phoebe had always loved magic. Even when they were kids, she'd been fascinated by it - watching _Bewitched,_ playing with the spirit board, even stealing her ballerina because she thought it would magically keep nightmares away. No, she wouldn't have given up magic . . .

The eldest Halliwell sister shook her head. She didn't need to go down that road. Thinking about her sisters and all that might have happened to them after the Elders stopped her from checking on them was useless, it would just upset her. Growling slightly, Prue stalked into her bedroom and got ready for bed, her somewhat happy mood from helping her charge with a vanquish ruined.

Maybe she should send a letter to Angie. The kid hadn't written much since the equinox, just a few quick notes here and there. It was good to know she had a few friends, though. Prue had worried when Angelica sent a letter asking how to make them: the girl wouldn't have mentioned it if she wasn't upset about it already. Which meant she'd probably had a breakdown somewhere along the line. Before she could rouse herself enough to start writing, however, Prue let out a jaw-breaking yawn.

She'd write the letter tomorrow, when she wouldn't fall asleep and drool on the paper.

.

_Hogwarts Castle  
>October 31<em>

All of the first years were buzzing on the morning of the thirty-first, and it wasn't just because it was 'Candy Begging Day,' as Chris called it - Halloween. Samhain*, and the smell of pumpkin baking was wafting through the corridors like a delicious, autumnal dream.

No, they were excited because the older years had let sip that every year, the last Charms class in October was when the students learned how to make things _fly_. That afternoon, Angelica dragged Chris along with her to Charms class, and made him get a seat with her in the front - finally! They'd be able to do a charm! Sure, she'd made charms and cast them before Hogwarts, but this was the first one she'd be casting with a _wand_.

Chris, though he wouldn't admit it, was excited too. He didn't resist at all when dragged along to the class, and kept practising wand movements under the table. Angelica meanwhile was double-checking the flying charm in their textbook, and muttering the words under her breath, to make sure she knew how to pronounce them properly. Thankfully most of the other students in their class had the same idea about getting to Charms early, and Professor Flitwick soon started the lesson.

"All right everybody," he called out, clapping his hands to get the buzzing students' attention. "Everyone, look up here! It's time for you all to pair up - choose a partner, quickly, quickly. We'll be practising the Flying Charm today! So pick your partners, hurry up!"

The class all scrambled (those that hadn't sat with who they wanted to partner up with already, that is) to get partners, and there was a loud scraping of chairs and tables as they did so.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!" Flitwick squeaked once they'd all settled down. The Professor was perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Personally, Angelica thought that the rhyme was harder to remember than 'pronounce things right or get squished,' but perhaps she was just odd.

Angelica was shocked to find that the charms was rather simple - she was the first in the class to do it, in fact. She smiled at that, and happily floated her feather around Chris' head, tickling his nose with it.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Potter's done it! Very good! Five points to Ravenclaw!"

Angelica beamed.

Chris plucked the feather out of the air. "Now let me try," he said. Angelica nodded in agreement, and he waved his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Nothing happened.

"Here," Angelica said, laying her hand on the one he held his wand with. "Let me help. You've got the movement right, but your pronouncing it wrong. The first part is _wing,_ not _win_, alright? Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Got it?"

Chris nodded and repeated what she'd said. "Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sah."

Angelica beamed. "Exactly! Now go on, try it."

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The feather flew up immediately about six feet in the air, and Chris grinned, making it do simple loop-de-loops above their heads.

"Bravo, Mister Halliwell!" Flitwick clapped. "Five points to Slytherin!"

However, the cheerful euphoria that they'd had after Charms class couldn't last. As Angelica was walking to the library to return her books before dinner, she bumped into Neville.

"Oh, hello, Neville," Angelica said brightly. "Have you seen Hermione? I haven't seen her anywhere today, I thought I would have at lunch."

Neville shook his head. "Ron said something to her after Charms, and she's been in the bathroom all day, crying. I tried to get her to come out, but she told me to go away."

Angelica stared. "Which bathroom?" she asked. Oh, poor Hermione . . .

"The one near the Charms corridor."

And in a flash, Angelica was off. One of her best friends was crying and alone. She could fix the latter, and kick Weasley in the groin to make the former seem less bad.

"Hermione?" she called, knocking on the bathroom door. "Hermione, are you in there?"

No answer. Not believing for a moment that her friend had suddenly become cheerful and was on her way to the Halloween Feast, Angelica pushed open the door and started walking along the stalls, looking under the doors for feet. She caught sight of Hermione sitting on the floor in a stall near the and, and crawled under the door to sit next to her.

"Hi."

Hermione squawked and jerked back, not having noticed Angelica come up to her because she had had been buried in her knees. "Angelica!" she cried, shocked. She hurriedly tried to wipe the tears off her face. "I said to go away! And-and this is entirely inappropriate! You don't just crawl into people's bathroom stalls!"

Angelica hugged her. "Don't care," she murmured, "You're upset, and you're my friend. What happened?"

Hermione sniffled slightly, and wiped her nose. "It was that stupid boy, Ron Weasley. He-" her voice cracked, and she had to bite back a sob to continue. "He said I'm a nightmare, and haven't got any friends. No-one said a thing different to him, either, not even Neville!"

"Neville has his own problems," Angelica muttered. "You do so have friends, Hermione," she said louder, in a more normal tone of voice. "You have me, and Chris likes you, too. Neville's your friend, too, he's just afraid to be noticed. He came here earlier, didn't he? Tried to get you to come out? So that's at least three: me, Neville and Chris. See? Friends."

The Gryffindor seemed surprised at that. "He does? But-but he barely ever speaks to me!"

Angelica shook her head. "Trust me, if Chris didn't like you, you'd know it. Now, come on. There's a Feast in the Great Hall, and I heard that Professor Dumbledore hired vampires to play music tonight. Do you want to go?"

"I - alright. But let me wash my face first. I don't want Ronald to know I've been crying. He'll just tease me more."

The Ravenclaw girl wisely didn't mention that the boy probably knew by now - Lavender Brown had been livid at him for making Hermione cry, something about girls needing to stick together in the face of male chauvinism. Angelica was fairly certain that Lavender was a feminist. Of course, Angelica hadn't realised that the other girl was talking about Hermione then, since she hadn't mentioned the girl's name, but Weasley probably wasn't stupid enough to make _another_ girl run to the bathroom crying. He'd been cringing every time Lavender glowered at him.

At least, Angelica hoped he wasn't.

Hermione stood and unlocked the door to the stall, and the two girls walked out. Hermione was just finishing up drying her face off when there was a heavy pounding on the door.

"Angie? Hermione? Are you guys in there?" It was Chris, and he sounded frantic. Angelica opened the door and saw that he was flushed and sweating, as if he'd run a long distance. "You're here," he panted. "Look, there's a troll in the castle, and no-one knows where it is, come o-"

Chris broke off in the middle of his sentence as a putrid, disgusting smell reached the doorway. It was a terrible mixture of old gym socks, rotten eggs, and potato salad. The two witches looked at one another with wide eyes. "Troll," the said together.

Without a second thought, Angelica pulled Chris into the bathroom and shut the door.

Hermione was confused, not having smelled the troll yet. "What? Angelica, Chris, what are you-"

"The troll's right outside," Angelica said quickly, grabbing Hermione as well. "Hurry, we need to hie in a stall. Troll's have bad eyesight, it won't be able to see us if we hide in . . . one . . . "

"Too late," Chris grimaced. Angelica stared at him. How could he manage to sound so cocky when there was a _troll_ in there with them. Witch or not, this was a _bad_ thing! For indeed, the troll had pushed open the door and was staring right at them.

He was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, with skin that was a dull, granite gray, and a great lumpy body like a boulder with his small bald head perched on top like a coconut. The troll had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from him was incredible. He was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

Then came the sound of a _click_ when the lock was turned. They were stuck inside the bathroom with a troll.

Gods help them.

.

_Prue_

Prue shot up from where she'd been lounging, reading on her couch. That was Angie's voice. _Angelica?_ she sent. _What is it?_ Please don't hear that she silently begged, because if Angelica could hear her, then that meant she was in danger or hurt.

_Prue! Prue, there's a troll, and we're locked in with it! Prue, I don't know what to do!_ Angelica sounded scared out of her mind. Prue Didn't bother to think twice, she just closed her eyes and astral projected to Angelica, following the link to find her.

.

Angelica was fairly certain that she was having a panic attack. She, Chris, and Hermione were backed against the wall, and she didn't know what to do. She had no _clue_ how to stop a troll. Chris didn't look like he knew either, if the way he was looking around wildly was anything to go by.

The troll roared and swung it's club, breaking the sinks, and sending porcelain and water flying everywhere. Chris waved his arm and send most of the sink shrapnel back at the troll, but it didn't seem to even notice it.

Hermione gave a small whimper of fear. Oh, if only they could get to the damn _door_ . . .

Wait a tic. A _door!_ Angelica shook Chris' arm. "Distract it!" she yelled over the din the water was causing as the sound of it spraying from the pipes and hitting the floor and walls reverberated. Chris nodded, and Angelica turned to face the wall. She traced an arc from the bottom of the wall by the floor, over her head, and back down to the floor again.

"When you find your path is blocked," she shouted, "All you have to do is Knock!"

She knocked three times on the wall, and the watery outline caused by her finger running over the tile solidified and a door appeared, opening into the next room - Professor Flitwick's classroom, to be precise. The three children ran into the room and to the other side, breathing hard.

"What - what _was _that?" Hermione yelped. "How did you make a _door?_" Angelica bit her lip, not sure how to answer.

Then the troll broke the wall. Angelica whirled around with a yell, and Chris flung the Professor's desk at the beast. It didn't help, and the troll just came closer, and closer . . .

"You three, move!"

Angelica, not even thinking about it once, did as the familiar voice bade her and pulled her friends to the door to the class room. They hadn't even gotten half the way there before the troll was sent into the wall and slumped downward, unconscious. A dark haired woman ran over to them, her face lined with worry. "Are you three okay?" she asked.

"Miss Trudoe!" Angelica shouted. She grabbed the woman around the waist. Oh, thank goodness. She gripped her mentor tightly, refusing to let go. Prue kneeled down to get a better look at Angelica and her friends.

"Is anyone hurt?" she asked quickly. The three nodded. "Good. Now - "

An explosion was heard in the bathroom, and the quartet could just see bits of plaster and dust shoot toward the opposite wall as the teachers' voices were hear.

"The Weasley boy said he'd locked it in here!"

"So where _is_ the blasted thing?"

"Oh my god! Look, it's gone through the wall!"

"My classroom!"

Prue's face took on a pained look. She hated to have to leave, but it would be too hard to explain if she was caught here. "I'll project in tonight and check up on you," she murmured in Angelica's ear before disappearing. Hermione stared, struck dumb by the information overload of the past . . . Oh . . . Was it ten minutes?

The teachers rushed in and saw the three first years huddled together, staring between them and the troll. Professor Quirrell fainted.

"What is the meaning of this?" Professor McGonagall cried.

"Indeed," Professor Snape, said his lip curling as he strode across the room to examine the troll. "While it appears the troll is dead, I must wonder . . . How did it happen?"

"How did it happen?" the Head of Gryffindor House shrieked. "What are they doing here, is what we should be asking!"

"Yes, indeed, Minerva!" Flitwick declared, eying the trio closely. "What were you thinking, you three?"

Hermione seemed unable to speak, and it was Chris who stepped forward and spoke. "Weasley made Hermione cry after their Charms class," he said. "She and Angelica are friends, and Angie went to look for her. Neither of them were at the feast, and the teachers left before I could tell them. I went after them and found them in the bathroom. We smelled the troll coming and hid in one of the bathroom stalls. Some idiot - Weasley, right? - locked us in with it, and it found us.

"Angelica used her wand to make an opening in the wall for us to crawl through, but the troll followed us. It raised it's club to attack us and," Chris gulped, and Angelica found that if she didn't know the truth, if she hadn't been there, the look on his face would have convinced her that he wasn't telling a lie. "I don't know what exactly happened, but I think I somehow sent it into the wall."

The teachers stared between Angelica, Chris, and Hermione for a moment.

"Well," McGonagall said, "Miss Granger, Miss Potter, we cannot fault you, as you didn't know. Mister Halliwell, you were very brave to try and save your friends that way. Five points each to Slytherin, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, for keeping a level head in the face of danger."

Snape sneered. Soon the students were sent up to their respective common rooms. Chris and Angelica stopped by the main staircase. "I'm going to assume that we aren't holding out ritual tonight," Angelica said, smiling slightly.

Chris shrugged. "We can celebrate it tomorrow. My Aunt Phoebe usually does; she's busy taking my cousins out trick-or-treating on the thirty-first."

"Tomorrow, then," Angelica smiled, and ran up the stairs to talk with Hermione as they walked to their respective towers about how to make Ronald Weasley miserable . . .

There were some things in life a pair of girls just couldn't go through without hating a boy. Said boy making one of them cry and then locking them in a bathroom to get attacked by a mountain troll is one of them.

.

**AN/AR: The circle is a sacred space for Wiccans - you can think of it as a church, synagogue, mosque, etc that they can set up anywhere. Some only cast it for rituals or specific spells, some will cast it whenever they're at their altar - it varies. The four quarters(or Watchtowers, or Guardians, or Mighty Ones) are the four traditional elements of Water, Earth, Air and Fire. Some traditions of Wicca also call upon a fifth quarter, Spirit. They are called upon much like a deity is, either for a spell or for ritual - it varies, again. Thanks go to Lady Bridget at www . ladybridget . com/ Her website is **_**really good**_**.**

**No, I didn't include all of the ritual . . . It's **_**long.**_** I want a LITTLE more than that for the chapter, after all. By the way - too much focus on the Sabbats(Wiccan holidays)? Answer back, because your answers will decide whether or not I make it such a big deal later on! Seriously please. I wanna know.**

**Samhain is another Wiccan Sabbat, one that honors the dead, a lot like Día de Muertos. It's pronounced SOW-WIN, and is sometimes called the 'Witch's New Year.' It's seen as a festival of darkness, counterbalanced by Beltane six months later, which is a festival of light and fertility. There's a lot of paying respect to the ancestors, friends, and even pets, that have passed. It's celebrated on October 31 or November 1 each year.**


	13. Chapter 13

_"I'll project in tonight and check up on you," Prue murmured in Angelica's ear before disappearing._

_Chris shrugged. "We can celebrate Samhain tomorrow. My Aunt Phoebe usually does; she's busy taking my cousins out trick-or-treating on the thirty-first."_

_"Tomorrow, then," Angelica smiled._

.

Prue was there when Angelica walked up to her dorm room.

"Hey, kiddo."

Angelica grinned. "Prue!" she squealed, running over to the woman. Prue laughed, catching the girl in a hug.

"Are you alright?" she asked, smoothing down Angelica's hair - it had become loose during the whole troll debacle. "Sorry I had to leave."

"It's alright," Angelica shrugged. "It would have been hard to explain if you'd stayed." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry I was freaking out so much. I didn't mean to scare you."

Prue shook her head. "Hey. That's no problem. I'm here to protect you, so don't apologise."

Angelica smiled at that.

"So, tell me what your classes have been like."

.

Classes were cancelled the next day, to give the teachers time to fix the Charm's classroom and the sinks that the troll had destroyed. Student's were talking all morning about what must have happened, and wondering how the troll had gotten from the dungeons to the Charms corridor so quickly without being noticed. Of course, it was found out that Angelica, Hermione and Chris had been in the thick of it, so the three of them spent most of the morning hiding in the library.

They made short work of what was left of their homework, with Hermione's help. Neither Chris nor Angelica had any delusions that they worked hard enough on their essays to get an A+, but Angelica personally thought she had a good chance after Hermione pointed a few things out. After that they talked for a while, and somehow the conversation turned to why the school taught Potions but not Alchemy, which made Hermione straighten up and hurriedly declare she needed to check if a book she'd hoped to check out was available yet.

Angelica just spent most of her time trying to keep up with how fast Hermione was talking. Shrugging, she turned to Chris. "So, what are we doing tonight?" she asked. "You said your family always holds a dumb supper*, but figured you wanted to go to the Feast this year instead. Do you want to have it since there isn't one tonight?"

Chris shook his head. "Nah. I'm happy with what we have already. Small supper as part of the ritual, and leaving a candle lit after. Why, were you thinking of doing something else?"

"No," Angelica shook her head. "I was thinking of maybe doing a séance, but I don't have anyone I'd actually want to talk to - I never met my parents, and don't really know anything about them, either. Honestly, if I saw them, I'd probably start shouting."

Chris nodded. "Okay."

Hat was what Angelica liked about him. He didn't ask uncomfortable questions, like 'Why would you yell at your dead Mum and Dad?'

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. Chris got bored and dragged Angelica and Hermione into making a witch bottle with him. Hermione, ever curious, demanded an explanation of what a witch bottle _was_ before agreeing to help.

"A witch bottle," Chris said, "is a jar or bottle that's supposed to protect the maker - for us, makers - from evil. It's has sharp things like bent nails and glass in it to deflect bad luck. You tie a red ribbon around the top to bring protection. When the jar's half filled, you either, um," Chris' cheeks grew faintly pink, "pee in it -" Hermione looked horrified "- or spit in it and add vinegar. Then you bury it."

Hermione looked faintly ill at the thought. "Have you ever made one before?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, my Aunt Paige convinced us to bury them around the Manor last year." Seeing that Hermione still looked ready to hurl, he went on, "But seriously, you just have to spit in it."

It took a lot more convincing, but soon Hermione was somewhat happily running around the castle with them, looking for pointy things to fill the jar with. They were able to scavenge the bathroom at lunch, and added sharp pieces of porcelain, some wood from the broken stalls, and what remained of some of the broken mirrors. Hermione still wasn't to happy to spit in it, but as Angelica pointed out - it wasn't like they were spitting on each other or anything. After that, Chris grabbed some vinegar from the table at lunch, and off the trio went to bury their witch bottle.

"Oh!" Hermione said stopping short as they passed the Whomping Willow - a terrible tree that liked to attack students when they came too close. All first years had been warned well away from it. "We forgot the ribbon!"

Angelica put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "It's fine, Hermione," she said, "I've got it in my pocket, we just forgot to put it on. Besides, if nothing else we could have found some ink and drawn it on."

Hermione looked scandalized at the idea of doing it 'wrong,' but as they had the ribbon and were going to use it, didn't say anything.

"Ooh!" Angelica yelled, "Let's bury it over there!" She took off running toward an outcropping of rocks a few yards away.

The three made short work of burying the jar after Hermione suggested the use of a Blasting Charm, and the sky was just turning pink when they headed in. Hermione let out a great yawn that made Angelica's eyes water. "Well I'm heading to bed," the Gryffindor girl said matter-of-factly. "Goodnight all."

"'Night!" Chris and Angelica chorused.

The rest of the evening for the two of them was spent raiding the dinner tables in the Great Hall for Vegetables, bread, and apple cider. The latter was annoyingly difficult to find - it seemed only the Hufflepuffs liked it, and Angelica had to run out of the Hall to keep them from making her put it back.

Sometimes it was nice to be speedy.

Soon the two witches were in one of the many towers around Hogwarts, and setting out their food on the altar - they'd already set it up yesterday morning, so aside from a few things like straightening knocked over candles, everything was already good to go.

"Ready?" Chris asked, standing up to look at everything. They'd used a low, round table Angelica had found in one of the storage room around the school, and Chris smiled when he saw it - it reminded him of the one his family had upstairs in the attic. The back of the table, the side below the window, was split into two sides - Chris' and Angelica's. On the right, Chris had set up pictures of his family. One was of his Aunt Prue as a little girl, the other was of his Grams and Grandpa Allen, and the last was his mom's mom, his Granma. He also had set up a small seashell that had been his pet Hermit crab's before it died.

Angelica had up a drawing she'd made when she was seven. The paper was old and ripped up at the edges, but the heavy black crayon was easy to read. The words, 'MY FAMILY' were drawn in tall letters at the top of a small family tree and a picture of three stick figures. A man and a woman held hands on the left, and a girl stood alone on the right. Chris frowned, noticing that Angelica had written 'Mummy' and 'Daddy' instead of her parents' names. He didn't know much about his friend's relatives, but he didn't like them very much from what he had found out.

The rest of the altar was rather simple. They used the black and white candles that they'd used at the Equinox, and the same wooden god and goddess figurines. There were few other things, meant to represent their ancestors in general, like a triquetra for Chris, and a small Gryffindor pennant Angelica had bought from an older student that had made something of a school store to make money. At the front of the table were three small golden plates, take from the great hall - they were supposed to be used to hold teacups, but neither Chris nor Angelica really cared enough to use different plates. Saucers, technically. There were normal sized plates, one either side of the altar, holding the food that they'd be serving. There was one goblet

"Ready," Angelica said softly, with a small nod. Chris helped her up, and they lit the tealights set out in front of the god and goddess figurines - six white candles, for the loved ones they were remembering. When they was done, they walked around the altar, with Chris speaking, as the eldest of the two of them,

"_This is the night when the gateway between  
>our world and the spirit world is thinnest.<br>Tonight is a night to call out those who came before us.  
>Tonight we honour our of our ancestors, we call to you,<br>and we welcome you to join us for this night.  
>We know you watch over us always,<br>protecting us and guiding us,  
>and tonight we thank you.<br>We invite you to join us and share our meal._"

Again, as the eldest, when they sat down again, Chris served food to first to the ancestor's plate, them himself, and then Angelica. Each dish was served, and when they were done, Chris and Angelica began to tell each other stories that he knew about his family. Well, Chris told stories. Angelica listened and spoke about stories she'd made up about her parents when she was younger, and a few stories she'd overheard her Aunt Petunia tell her Cousin Dudley about their grandfather Evans.

"My Grams didn't like men for a long time," Chris said. "When my brother Wyatt was born, she didn't even want to attend his Wiccaning. My Grandpa Allen died when my Granma Patty was four, and Grams wanted her to have a dad. So, she got married." He laughed. "Three more times. She was engaged six. After the last time she hexed her engagement ring, the one she always had her suitors give her, so that she'd turn into some sort of Suzie Homemaker when she put it on."

Angelica stared in shock. "But - _why?_ Why'd she do that?"

Chris snorted. "She wanted a reminder of how she felt whenever she got married. It worked, because she stayed single after that. My Aunt Phoebe went nuts when she put it on . . . "

Angelica nearly choked on her squash. From what he'd said about his Aunt Phoebe, she was the least Homemaker-like of his family. "Oh, dear . . . When I was little, on Christmas Eve, my Aunt left my bedroom door unlocked by accident, Well, I snuck out and stood outside my cousin's door. He was really interested in World War Two back then, and demanded she tell him a story about it. Well, she did, about my grandfather, Harry. He was a fighter pilot, and . . . "

They ran out of food for a while before they ran out of stories. When the last of the food was gone from their plates, they cleared theirs away, leaving the ancestors' plate. Chris poured some cider into the goblet and took it in his hands, saying, "I am Christopher, son of Piper, daughter of Patricia, daughter of Penelope, daughter of Priscilla, daughter of Phillip, daughter of Pollyanna, daughter of Cassandra, daughter of Prudence, daughter of Melinda, daughter of Charlotte." He took a sip from the goblet and passed it to Angelica.

She stared for a moment at him as she took it, shocked that he new so many of his ancestors by names, before saying, a little quieter than he had, "I am Angelic, daughter of Lily, daughter of Violet and Harold." She took her own sip from the goblet. Once she had, Angelica placed it in front of the ancestors' plate and said,

"_This is the cup of remembrance.  
>We remember all of you.<br>You are dead but never forgotten,  
>and you live on within us.<em>"

The two eleven year olds were quiet for a while, thinking about family. In Chris' case, he was thinking about how much he valued it, and Angelica was thinking about how much she wished she had one. A real family, that _liked_ her. After some time had passed, the two stood up together and left the altar. The candles stayed lit, left to burn out on their own, and the plate and goblet stayed as well. They would be picked up in the morning. Angelica grabbed a short, fat candle from the floor and set it in the window. "Hand me the matches, Chris?"

The older boy nodded. "Sure," he said, pulling them from his pocket and setting them on the window sill. Angelica put her candle beside them and grabbed one. Once the candle had been lit, she smiled, saying a small prayer Chris couldn't quite catch. He did, however, notice when she gave him a tight hug before pulling him out of the room.

As he lit a candle of his own in the dorm room window that night, Chris couldn't help but wonder if girls were always so . . . Not understandable. Why'd she hug him? Angelica _never_ hugged him, not unless she was crying.

Girls were weird.

.

**AN/AR: A dumb supper is a dinner where you don't speak. It's held in honour of the dead, and a place is set for the deceased with a candle lit for each person you're honouring. A note's written for the dead and burned in their candle . . . Yes, I'm really dumbing it down, but that's the really basic gist of it.**

**Credit for the Samhain ritual goes to Patti Wigington at Pagan/Wiccan About. Smile, I included the entire thing this time!**

**The lighting the candle the window thing is something I do. It's supposed to guide any wandering spirits throughout the night. : )**

**Hope you liked it - Merc.**


	14. Chapter 14

_Girls were weird._

.

As November came, the weather at Hogwarts turned very cold. The mountains turned icy gray and the lake was like chilled steel - no one went swimming in it any longer. Every morning the castle would wake up to find the grounds covered in frost, and the stone steps outside were frozen and slick. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver skin boots. Only a few students - generally viewed as daft at best and insane at worst - spent much time outside if they weren't Quidditch players.

Winter was coming, and Angelica couldn't be happier.

"I love winter!" she declared one day, throwing her arms up into the sky and spinning around. Chris and Hermione stood beside her and stared.

"_Why?_" Chris asked. "It's freezing out!" Hermione nodded frantically in agreement, hugging herself to ward off the cold.

Personally, Angelica thought they were both nuts. "_Because,_" she said happily, "it's cold! Waking up in the morning, and everything's all fresh and clean . . . Snuggling up under a big cosy blanket by the fire, hot chocolate, building snowmen, waking up right away when your feet hit the floor, Yule . . . "

Hermione just shook her head. "Well have fun without _me_ once it starts snowing! I'll be hiding inside the castle."

"Agreed," Chris added. Angelica glowered at them both.

"Well I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at that from _you_, Mister Colonial," she said to Chris, "You're used to to it being boiling outside."

"California is _not_ that hot!"

Angelica ignored him. "But Hermione, how _could_ you betray me like this!" The dark-haired Ravenclaw pouted and pretended to faint. "Oh, the humanity!"

"Have fun on the frozen ground," Hermione said, not falling at all for Angelica's act. The younger girl frowned up at her from the grass.

"You two ruin all my fun," she said, getting up and dusting herself off. The three walked in silence for a few minutes, until they heard a faint, muffled yelling coming from the school gardens. They hurried over and saw a boy rattling the gate to them and stomping his feet. Upon closer inspection, it was easy to see that the boy's tongue was frozen to the gate.

"Oh my god!" Hermione exclaimed. "Here, let me help, how long have you been stuck here?" The boy held up one finger. "A minute? No - for an _hour?_ Here, cup your hands on either side of your mouth and breathe out lots and lots of hot air, alright? Good, good . . . Right, now pull off your tongue."

The boy did, and with a small, strangled yell, he was detached from the metal gate, though his eyes were definitely watering. He didn't stick around, instead running off without a word.

"Well, that was rude."

.

As November 9th approached, the entire school was buzzing. Quidditch season had begun and the first match of the season was between Slytherin and Gryffindor. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

There was lots of guessing at who the new Gryffindor Seeker would be - theirs had graduated last year, and the captain, Oliver Wood, was keeping his replacement a secret. By the sixth, however, word had leaked, and second year Victoria Frobisher was getting a lot of attention, as the newly-revealed 'secret weapon' of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Angelica didn't know what to feel sorrier for the girl for — the people telling her she'd be brilliant or the people telling her they'd be running around underneath her holding a mattress. The girl looked close to having a panic attack whenever Angelica saw her.

Hermione was learning about Quidditch merely for survival - one couldn't be a a member of Gryffindor House, it seemed, without being forced to pick up a basic appreciation (or seem to pick up a basic appreciation) for the sport. She'd checked out _Quidditch through the Ages_ from the library again, and kept quoting it out to Angelica and Chris whenever there was a lull in conversation. Thus, Angelica found herself, entirely without meaning to, learning about the game.

She learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

The ninth dawned cold and bright, with students milling everywhere, anxious to get on with the game. Some students were selling binoculars from table to table. There were great rounds of applause whenever a member of either Quidditch team entered the Great Hall, and everyone seemed to be giddy, even the people who had declared that they wouldn't be seeing the match. Mostly these were seventh years studying for their N.E.W.T.s (Nastily eXhausting Wizard Tests) and a few of the more . . . _zealous _. . . Ravenclaws.

Angelica had dragged Chris and Hermione over to her table, and they were happily joining in a discussion with the Ravenclaw first years about who would likely have the top grades by the term's end.

Sometimes it was nice to relax in the insulated little book world of her house, Angelica thought.

"I say it'll be Hermione," Angelica was saying to Terry Boot. "I mean, you're great in Potions, but you've never seen her study . . . "

Hermione, meanwhile, was promoting Su Li, a Chinese girl that was sharp as a knife. "Really," she was saying to Kevin Entwhistle, "She's one of the first to get things in Potions and in Astronomy, and I know for a fact she's in a study group with third years - aren't you, Su?"

"Well I've got you all beat in Potions," Chris said with a smug smirk. Lisa Turpin, who was quite sensitive about her Potions grades, pushed him from his seat.

Ah, breakfast. Such a peaceful meal.

When eleven o'clock came around, the castle was mostly empty. Angelica and Hermione were reading in the library, with Hermione being the best person _ever_ in Angelica's eyes because she was helping her wrap her mind around the latest Astronomy assignment. Chris was out watching the game with his housemates, being more sports-inclined than either girl, and it was only when he came up to tell them how the game had gone that they even realised it was over - Slytherin and Gryffindor tied at three hundred and ten points each.

.

Angelica stared at Chris. "It's your _birthday_, and you didn't say anything!" she exclaimed loudly. Madam Pince shushed her harshly, and she slumped down in her chair, blushing, before leaning forward onto the table again. "Why didn't you say anything? I could have gotten you a present, or put together a party, or given Hermione a galleon to pay Fred and George Weasley to go to Hogsmeade and buy cupcakes . . . "

Chris patiently waited for her to inish her rambling before giving an answer. "I don't celebrate my birthday much," he said, shrugging. "It makes Mom and Dad sad, because a friend of theirs died the day I was born." It wasn't entirely a lie, the boy thought to himself. And it was what his parents always told him when he asked why they were upset on his birthday. They didn't know he remembered, after all. Heck, _he_ didn't know why he remembered the other future, or time travel, or any of it. Maybe life was just messed up that way.

And besides, he really _didn't_ want to go into the whole 'My future self from Evil Land came back in time and died the day I was born, Confused yet?' story right now. So he . . . mislead.

Angelica looked unhappy, however. "Chris," she said firmly, "Everyone is supposed to celebrate their birthday, no matter what." She left out the fact that he hadn't until she started school and Miss Trudoe gave her a cupcake and a gift every year, and that the Dursley's probably didn't know when she was born. "Now come on."

The Slytherin boy stood, not entirely certain what Angelica wanted to do. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

His friend rolled her eyes. "You're so paranoid," she said. "_We_ are going to find the Weasley twins and get them to tell us where the kitchen are, so I can ask whoever's down there to make you a birthday cake."

Chris blinked. "How fo you know they know where the kitchens are?"

"They're the Weasley Twins. Honestly, and _you're_ the Slytherin of the two of us?"

The Halliwell wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted by that comment.

.

Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard to convince the twins to reveal their secret. All they had to do was ask - something the terrible duo seemed shocked by.

"What strangeness-"

"-this is, oh-"

"-dear brother mine. We are-"

"-being asked-"

"-and by a-"

"firstie, no less!"

"A book worm."

"For her snakey little friend!"

"Does she _luuuuurv_ him?"

"Does she want to have-"

"-his babies?"

"EEWWWW!"

The last exclaimation was not, in fact, from the twins. It was from Chris and Angelica. "Gross!" the girl squealed. "Why would I want _anyone's_ babies? Ick!"

"Where's the brain bleach?" Chris muttered, looking absolutely disgusted.

"Well, brother mine, we-"

"-know which Ickle Firsties-"

"-we won't be catching in a broom closet."

The Twins grinned maniacally. "The kitchen's in the basements; go down the main staircase to the entrance hall, turn left, through the tall wooden doow with the gold handle, down the stairs, and when you get to the portait of a bowl of fruit, tickle the pear and pull the handle!" they said together.

Angelica nodded. " . . . Right. Bye!"

Then she and Chris ran away from the two as fast as they could, hoping the demon twins had told them the truth and that they weren't going to end up in a sludge pit or something.

The kitchen, Angelica thought, was brilliant. The room was absolutely enormous, bigger than the great hall above it, with great mounted high ceilings, an absolutely enormous fireplace at one end, and glittering brass cookware winking from all angles along the walls. There were tables lined up exactly under where the ones in the Great Hall were, and in the farthest corner, Angelica could see a small, spiral staircase going up to a door that brushed the ceiling.

It was made even better by the House Elves.

Neither Chris nor Angelica had ever met a House Elf before, but the ones in the Hogwarts kitchen left a good impression. Almost as soon as they'd walked in, half a dozen of them had come up, asking if 'Angie Potter Miss' and 'Chris Hally-well Sir' would like anything to eat. Angelica, blushing slightly at all the attention asked if they had any cake, because it was Chris' birthday.

The elves had been over the moon at that, and prodded the two students into chairs, set up a folding table, and brought out a birthday cake with blue icing and the words 'Happy Birthday Mister Chris' on it. One elf - Blinky - also brought over birthday candles and asked Chris how old he was turning. Setting the twelve candles in, there was a very exuberant, very high-pitched round of 'Happy Birthday' sung by the elves before Chris and Angelica were given slices of cake to eat.

It was delicious. The best red velvet cake Angelica had ever tasted, in fact. Apparently, it was Chris' favourite, and he'd eaten about two thirds of the cake all by himself.

Later, as they brought up the last slice of cake to Hermione, Angelica finally wished Chris a happy birthday herself.

.

**AN/AR: Admittedly, it's a bit of a filler chapter. I wanted to get in Chrs' birthday, and to get some background in on the character. Before you ask any questions, the reason I'm having the Halliwells not be the awesome parents we hope they are in the fixed future is because if I did that, I don't think I could write Chris as Chris. His upbringing would mould him into too different a person. Hate me? - Merc.**


	15. Chapter 15

_Later, as they brought up the last slice of cake to Hermione, Angelica finally wished Chris a happy birthday herself._

.

Angelica was very lucky, she thought, to have the two smartest people in her years as her friends. She very much doubted that she'd be doing as well as she was without them, let alone having as much fun outside of classes. Oh, she wasn't a bad student, definitely not - for one thing, magic was just too amazing to ever be lazy about, and for another, Prue was always really, really proud when Angelica did well. Angelica always liked when that happened. Still, though, she doubted she'd have the grades she did if not for Chris and Hermione.

There were a few classes where she, thankfully, had a bit of a lead on her classmates. Herbology and, by extension, Potions, were both easier than they probably should be for a Muggle raised student, because Angelica already knew the magical properties and uses of a lot of the plants that were also found in the normal world. She had a good understanding of magical theory already, because she'd been using magic for years and it was hard to _not_ pick up an idea of how it worked after that time. Other than that, though, Angelica was fairly average, in her own opinion. She got the practical part of classes quickly, but she needed help to actually get everything straight in her head.

Which was where having two best friends that were completely and utterly brilliant came in handy. That the two of them were great, and wonderful, and _nice_ was even better. And she liked being around them.

December was creeping up on the castle, and the teachers had begun decorating for the holidays. Students started singing loud, boisterous carols in the corridors, and it was absolutely impossible to escape the scent of peppermint. Angelica, Hermione, and Chris had taken to huddling in the library, by the large stone fireplace in the back, during the afternoons, when everyone seemed the most insane, Honestly - throwing mistletoe at people so they'd kiss you?

The three of them were all working on little projects to wind down and kill time without stressing before the upcoming mid-year exams - part of the reason Angelica loved the school so much was, really, classes were just the _beginning_, a building block for doing the fantastic on your own time. Sure, spell casting in the halls was against the rules, but there were plenty of empty class rooms, and so long as you didn't break anything in the library . . .

Hermione had found a surprisingly thin - for her - book about fire charms, and seemed to particularly enjoy casting a blue fire that could be carried around in a jar. She'd made some for all three of them, to carry in their backpacks for warmth. Both Angelica and Chris were over the moon about that because Scotland was _cold_ in the winter.

Chris, on the other hand, was engrossed in Arithmancy - he'd found a book about it lying around in his house's Common Room and apparently wizards used it differently than normal - outside the wizarding world, Arithmancy was the study of divination through numbers. _Inside_ it, Arithmancy was that, as well as the way spells were crafted, wards were made, and a whole load of other things.

Angelica didn't think she'd ever be able to wrap her mind around the subject. Maybe if she asked Hermione to translate it into the Queen's English?

She, herself, had a wooden covered notebook and was using it as a sort of wizarding world Book of Shadows. She had an odd idea nipping at her mind, and was trying to figure out what exactly she wanted to do with it - she'd been looking at an owl order catalogue to some writing supply store or other that someone left out in her dorm, and came across something fascinating - a quill that wrote down what was being said by the people around it.

_Cool_.

It sounded great for eavesdropping and reporters, and that led to Angelica thinking about other uses, like just saying what you were thinking for a diary. She knew that Hermione, for example, wrote very slowly. If she kept a journal it would take forever! But . . . That would mean people would really hear the thoughts you wanted to keep private, so Angelica discounted the idea of using it for that. Still . . . She'd thought of something else.

A quill that wrote what a person thought might work.

It was proving difficult to figure out, though. She knew runes and Arithmancy were absolute musts in spell-crafting and in making magical objects. She had two beginner's books on them out in front of her, but she was having trouble making heads or tails of it. Runes were simple, she understood what that was saying, but Arithmancy . . .

Well, she never had been much good at math.

.

Yule was coming. It was official.

Professor McGonagall was going around from House to House getting the names of those students that wanted to stay a the castle over the holidays. They had three days to decide. Angelica, slightly surprised at herself, was actually considering going back to the Dursley's house for Christmas. Not out of any love for her relatives, but more because she wanted to spend Yule with Miss Trudoe, if she was allowed. She decided to send a letter asking. Hopefully the school owls would be fast enough.

If her own indecision surprised Angelica, than Chris' own was a shock. He spoke about his family often, especially about how much he loved to spend time with his cousins and his Aunt Billie, who was more of a cool big sister that he didn't actually have to live with than a surrogate Aunt. Thus, when they were laughing over a debate between some of his Slytherin housemates and he told the Deputy Headmistress to put him on the list of students still considering staying, she was justifiably confused.

"Chris," she said, half smiling because she thought it had to be a joke. "Why would you be staying over the hols? You love your family!"

"Here, here!" a half asleep Blaise Zabini said, raising his goblet of orange juice. "He never shuts up . . . hnn . . . . "

Both Chris and Angelica blinked at him. "O . . . kay . . . "

"Chris. I'm serious. Why aren't you going home?" Angelica wasn't really sure why she was s adamant on him going home to be with his family, why she felt like he had to be there. But she did - he had a family, a real one, that loved him and that he loved back. Her every instinct was screaming at her that he should be with them.

The Halliwell boy shrugged. "Air fare's expensive," he said evenly. "I need to ask Mom if she remembered to budget for that, or even bought my ticket yet."

Angelica just . . . Stared at her best friend.

Then she tackled him in a hug.

.

_Dear Prue,_

_Happy Yule! Almost, at least. I found out that students can stay at Hogwarts over the hols. I'm not sure I want to. Do you think - If I come back, of course - that we could spend Yule together? It would be nice to, wouldn't it? If you already have plans, I don't mind, it's just a thought._

_Chris is thinking of staying. He said something about not being sure his Mum bought him a ticket. I feel bad for him if she didn't. He loves his family so much - did I tell you he has practically a thousand cousins? And a brother, AND a sister! I hope he can go home . . . He's quiet, but I'm certain he misses his family. His Aunts the most, I think. He always talks about them like they're the whole world - his one Aunt, Billie he calls her, is really funny, and his Gran's . . . interesting, to say the least!_

_He should be able to be with them. You said that Astral Projection can be learned, can't it? Do you know where I could find a book on it? If I gave it to Chris, then he wouldn't have to worry next year. I already got his present this year, I hope he'll like it . . . _

_I miss you._

_- Angelica._

_._

_Angie,_

_I'd love to celebrate Yule with you. Never doubt it for a minute. The guest room's the same as it was this summer, so I'll call your Aunt and let her know to drop you off at my place. See you soon._

_- Prue._

Angelica snorted lightly at the pale grey paper in her hand. It was pure Prue, right down to that stubborn little period at the end of her name.

Gods, she missed her. Hogwarts, wizardry was nice, but she waned her Miss Trudoe, the woman she went to when she was eight for a hug after Piers Polkiss shoved her against a wall to get a kiss on a bet. The woman she saw as the closest thing she had to a mother. Gods . . . She just missed her. So much.

Chris looked up at the small noise she made. "Huh?"

Angelica shook her head. "Nothing," she said, half laughing. "Just a letter. I'm going back to my relatives' house for Yule. What about you? Did your Mum remember to buy a ticket?"

Chris seemed to almost sag in relief at her words, which struck Angelica as odd, but she dismissed it. Chris rarely ever made sense, after all. "Yeah," he said, smiling. "I'm going home."

Angelica grinned. "Chris, that's great!"

And it was.

The ride on the Hogwarts Express was . . . Long, Angelica thought, was the best word to describe it. It had been fun, yes, but somehow her dread at seeing her relatives again made the trip seem to stretch on forever. Chris looked nervous as well; Angelica wondered why. She didn't ask, however, instead curling up under the window to read 'Arithmancy for the Beginning Idiot' and listen half heartedly to Hermione chatter excitedly with Neville about seeing her grandparents over Christmas.

The only real excitement came when Malfoy decided to barge in and . . . _tripped_. It was as if someone pulled his feet out from under him, you might say. Angelica and Chris shared a grin at that. "You're terrible" she murmured.

He just smirked.

.

It was late afternoon when the Express pulled in to King's Cross Station. Neville was almost immediately dragged off by his Gran, who sniffed when she saw Hermione, Angelica and Chris. Angelica thought she heard the woman berating him for trying to 'make friends above his place as a near squib' as she dragged him away.

She decided that she didn't much like Neville's Gran.

Hermione's parents were nice, at least. They seemed overwhelmed, in Angelica's opinion, but then, they probably were still getting used to magic.

"Hello," she said brightly after Hermione had introduced her parents to them. "I'm Angelica Potter."

Chris stuck out his hand awkwardly. "Chris Halliwell."

The Grangers smiled and nodded, and soon Helene and Troy Granger took their daughter home, leaving just Chris and Angelica waiting to be picked up.

"Where's your Uncle?" Chris asked, looking around. Angelica shrugged.

"I don't know. He's probably stuffing his face somewhere," she said nonchalantly. "He'll show up in another half hour or so. Besides, I have money for a cab, or I can call Miss Trudoe."

Chris frowned at that, but didn't comment.

"Where's your mum? Or your dad?" Angelica asked, standing on tiptoes to try and see someone that might look like Chris.

The boy shrugged, a little self consciously. "I'm taking a taxi to the airport," he said. "Mom figures I'm old enough to."

Angelica got a sour look on her face, but only squeezed her friend's hand in response.

"Girl! Hurry up now, I haven't got all day! What, do you expect me to wait for you hand on foot? Hurry up!"

The two witches whirled around at the booming, angry voice. It was Uncle Vernon. Angelica smiled, failing to hide a grimace. "Hello Uncle," she said quietly, "I'm coming." She grabbed her trunk and walked over to the man, who was now glaring at Chris suspiciously.

"This is one of your lot, then?" he asked gruffly.

Angelica nodded. "That's Chris, my best friend."

Uncle Vernon scoffed. "Get in the car."

**.**

**AN/AR: Okay . . . First, I am so, so, SO sorry for taking this long to update - I've been offline all week. Is it a reasonable excuse that my midterms are next week, and I've had more homework this week then the entire last semester because my teachers are evil sadistic being that wish to force me to study even MORE than I already am?**

**Second . . . You'll likely be seeing another note saying something along the same line as this next Saturday. Exams are **_**EVILE**__**! EEEEEVIIIILE!**_

** - Merc.**__


	16. Chapter 16

**AN/AR: This chapter's all Chris. You get to see Angie and Prue next one. :-)**

.

As Chris watched his best friend and charge's uncle snarl at her, he wondered if it would have been better that she stayed at the castle. He wanted to see his family, yes, but the fat man gave him a bad feeling . . . He shrugged his shoulders, shrugging away the thoughts. He'd make sure to keep an eye on her over the holidays.

Angelica began walking toward a bright blue car and struggling to shove her trunk in the trunk. Chris could just make out a thin faced woman and a fat boy completely ignoring her in the car. His frown deepened when he looked at them.

"What do you think you're looking at, boy?"

Chris tore his eyes away from the scene at the car and looked up at Angelica's Uncle - Vernon; she'd called him, right? "What?" he asked evenly.

The podgy man's face flushed a deep red. "Now you listen to me, you little freak," he snarled, "I don't care what sort of devil worship is going on at that freak place of yours, you leave my family alone, understand?"

Chris' eyes narrowed. He decided that he hated this man. He reminded him of the preacher that tied himself to a street lamp outside his Aunt Billie's store, shouting that she was doomed to hell. He'd been ignored right up until he tried to 'cleanse' the store with lighter fluid. Then the cops came.

"Why should I?" he asked the man flatly. Vernon Dursley's fist rose, and in an instant, Chris orbed away.

Had to love Notice-Me-Not Charms. Let you orb away without getting the Cleaners on your back, easy.

.

_Bright,_ was Chris' first thought when he arrived home. The conservatory was sunny and full of light - a stark contrast to the dimming, cloudy sky overhead King's Cross Station. He supposed he should have prepared for that - there was an eight hour time difference between San Fran and London. Chris looked around for a moment, only his eyes moving, before a soft grin took over his face and he slumped onto the couch and closed his eyes. He was _home._ He wasn't sitting for long when the door from the dining room opened creakily - his dad still hadn't fixed that thing? - and a shriek greeted him, accompanied by the clattering of metal and the unmistakable _crunch_ of cookies being trampled.

Chris cracked open one eye. "Hi, Mom."

Piper Halliwell rolled her eyes expressively as she settled her hands on her hips. "_Chris,_" she sighed, half-smiling. She held out her arms for a hug. "Come here, peanut."

Later that night, after Chris had finally been able to squirrel himself away from his relatives for a little while - not that he didn't love them or miss them or anything, he just needed _peace_, for Goddess' sake - in his room, he sat on his window bed, perfectly content to just sit and look out at the stars. He couldn't get to sleep, though. Something kept nagging at him, but he wasn't sure exactly _what._ The red numbers on his electric clock began to blink eight o'clock when he sat up abruptly, completely shocked at what he'd forgotten - or rather, just now remembered.

He didn't get Angie a present. "_Damn it,_" he swore under his breath.

"Chris! Language!" his mother yelled up the stairs, and Chris fell back against his pillow. How did his mom get super hearing, anyway?

.

"_CHRISSIE!_"

The twelve year old boy cringed at the high pitched squeals his cousins let out as he walked in to his Aunt's apartment. "Hi, P.J. Hi, Penelope," he croaked out, struggling for air as the two tried their very best to squeeze his intestines up and out through his throat.

"EEEEEE!"

Something that felt very much like a small wrecking ball crashed into Chris' back, tackling him to the ground. "CHRIS!" an excited voice shrieked.

"Hi, Priscilla . . ." _Ow . . ._

At that moment - Chris silently thanked any gods that might be listening - his Aunt Phoebe walked in from the balcony and began pulling her small demon horde off of her nephew.

"Hi, Aunt Phoebe," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. P.J. had one nasty grip.

The advice columnist smiled, and then frowned abruptly. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You're upset and nervous about something."

This, Chris was reminded, was why he didn't think he'd survive having his Aunt Phoebe as a mother. She was too perceptive of moods, being an Empath - Chris was perfectly happy with his own mother not noticing when he needed to sulk in the attic for a while, thus actually letting him, well, _sulk_. Phoebe would never let him do that.

She'd make him _talk about his feelings._ Ick.

"Chris . . ."

"Alright, alright," the boy said, holding his hands up in a submissive gesture. "I told everyone about my two friends at Hogwarts, right?"

Phoebe nodded. "Yeah, Angelica and Hermione. Angelica's your charge, right?"

Chris gave a short nod. "Got it in one. I just . . . It's Yule soon, and she's really big on gift giving - you should see the journal she got for Hermione - but . . . I forgot to get her one."

"Oh, sweetie," Phoebe said, brushing Chris' hair back from his face. "Why do you need me to help, though? Why not ask your mom?"

The green eyed boy flushed a little and shifted from foot to foot. "Uh, no reason."

His aunt's eyes narrowed. "You're lying," she accused quietly. Looking closely at her nephew, her face softened. "Oh, honey, are they out with Wyatt again? Why didn't you go with them?"

He shrugged. "I woke up late." Chris shrugged her hand off his shoulder and looked up from the ground, at her face, instead. "So can we go?"

Phoebe Halliwell sighed softly but nodded. "Sure, sweetie," she said, grabbing her purse. "Let's head right out. Girls," she called over her shoulder, "Tell Daddy I'm going shopping with Chris - and _behave._"

"Yes, Mommy!" three angelic - and no doubt lying - voices chorused from the second bedroom.

Watching her nephew walk briskly down the hallway of her condo's building, looking more and more like the twenty-something time traveller she remembered with every step, Phoebe decided that she needed to have words with her sister and brother in law.

Again.

.

Chris loved Bastet's Kindle. It was a small store on Irving Street, just a short walk from his Aunt Phoebe's condominium, and had a wide variety of antiques, collectibles, and New Age items. They had classes on a wide variety of subject, as well. Mainly, Chris loved the place because of the atmosphere.

The sheer number of cat items was actually pretty cool, in his opinion. The fact that they creeped Wyatt out beyond all reason had nothing to do with that, of course, not at all.

Right.

Aunt Phoebe knew how much he liked the store, and so took him there first to find Angelica's present. She walked along with him, cheerfully showing him things that girls liked. Mostly antique jewellery, which Chris immediately discounted - Angelica never wore jewellery, and being weird about her hair was about as girly as she got, thankfully. She liked books more, and useful things.

Though . . .

Chris paused when he saw a set of hair combs with threads of pearls and tiny red stones connecting them. The tag said 'antique hair combs - $30'. Chris picked them up experimentally. The red stones - he was half sure they were garnets - glittered some in the light. He turned to his Aunt. "Uhh . . ." he said, confused.

She laughed lightly and took them from his hands, putting them up to her own hair. "You tuck the combs under your hair on either side," she said, showing him while she spoke, "and it holds your hair back without riding up like a headband. You think she'll like these." Chris nodded.

"No," he said, "She'll love them."

He found out later, when Phoebe insisted on showing the gift to Coop, that the miniature red stones were rubies - a talisman against evil. Chris smiled slightly at that, silently hoping they'd work.

He used wrapping paper from his Aunt Phoebe - he liked it better than the loud Santa Claus cartoons his dad picked out, and it wasn't like the middle Halliwell sister minded. When he'd asked, she just laughed and said something about how she'd never use it all this year anyway, and to go ahead - apparently, his cousins thought Peanuts wrapping paper wasn't festive enough. He shrugged at that - their loss was his gain, after all. He taped the combs down to a piece of cardboard, wrapped them in gold tissue paper and slid them into a long, flat box before finally getting to use the actual wrapping paper.

Chris wasn't quite sure why, but he'd never liked wrapping things 'right.' He always cut out a big piece of wrapping paper, and then cut it into smaller pieces sized to fit the box he was wrapping. It looked normal when he was done, but his mom never failed to laugh and shake her head when she found herself unable to unwrap his gift yet again each year. Examining the box to make sure no cardboard showed at the corners, Chris was finally satisfied and stuck a blue bow on the top next to the scribbled words 'To Angelica. From: Chris. Happy Yule!'

He just hoped she liked it as he concentrated on where she was and orbed.

The house he appeared in was . . . Not what he was expecting. For one thing, there wasn't a walrus imitator (or was that human imitator?) in sight. For another it felt . . . A lot like home. It had a very similar energy to the Manor, and Chris felt himself relaxing more each second he stood in the large family room. A tree decked in silver stars and little gold suns was lit up in the corner of the room, and Chris was surprised to recognise a Yule log in the fireplace. Had he orbed to the right house . . . ?

"That the hell?"

Chris spun around, eyes wide . . . And felt himself get slammed into the wall behind him. A thin woman, of about average height, was standing in a sort of fighting position, holding her hands up in a way he recognised instantly - his Grams and he both held theirs the same way when they used their telekinetic powers. She came closer, and Chris felt his mouth drop open in recognition.

"Miss Trudoe?" he asked.

At the same time, she blinked in surprise and said, "Chris?"

Chris slowly got up from his place against the wall and held up his hands in explanation. "Really, I can explain everything."

The dark haired woman shifted her weight onto her back leg and crossed her arms over her chest, clearly not believing him. "Sure," she said flatly. "Chris, why are you here?"

Chris shifted a little from foot to foot. Gods, his excuse sounded so stupid, even in his own head . . . He mumbled it, not believing for a second that the woman before him would accept an excuse she couldn't hear, but trying nonetheless.

"Speak louder."

"I said I forgot to get Angelica a present so I got one and brought it here so she'd get it in time for Yule." He looked up from the floor to see Miss Trudoe watching him with wide surprised eyes. "What?"

She shook her head with a quick jerk. "Nothing, I - nothing. Just remind me of someone, that's all. Here, just put it under the tree . . ."

Chris blinked at her, surprised. "You're not going to ask how I got in your house? From California?"

Miss Trudoe shook her head. "No, it's obvious. You're a Whitelighter."

The boy snorted. "Only half," he said lightly. "I'll just put this here before Mom notices I'm gone and makes sure I'm a full one . . ."

Prue laughed slightly, and shook her head, leaving him to orb out just a few minutes before Angelica was due to come downstairs for lunch.

If that boy didn't remind her of Phoebe . . .

.

**AN/AR: So . . . Hope you like it! You get to see the week leading up to Yule from Angie's POV next chapter. Hope no-one else set off fire alarms this past New Year!**

**- Merc.**


	17. Chapter 17

Angelica glowered at her stupid steamer trunk as she _finally_ managed to shove it into the boot of the car. At least it wasn't as heavy as it could have been: she'd left her cauldron, scales, and a few other heavy things in her dorm room at Hogwarts. She shuffled into the back seat and buckled in, listening silently to her aunt and cousin laugh and sneer at her.

At least Dudley hadn't decided to throw jelly babies at her this time.

As they drove through London and toward Little Whinging, Angelica stared out the window, silently hoping that her friend was okay. His parents should have come for him, she thought. When the Dursley's car pulled up to Number Four, Aunt Petunia and Dudley scattered, leaving Angelica alone with her uncle. He loomed over her menacingly, and she fought not to cower. Witch - and now wizard - she may be, but Gods, if that man didn't scare her.

"Now you listen here, girl," Vernon muttered in a low voice, so that the neighbours wouldn't here. "I don't know why you've decided to come back here with your freakish ways and ruin my family's Christmas, but let me make one thing clear - you aren't welcome. If you do one thing to upset my wife or son while you're in my house, you'll find yourself out on the street before you can begin to apologise, do I make myself clear?"

Angelica nodded, her mind working at a mile a minute. "Yes Uncle Vernon," she said slowly. "Do you want I should just stay in the house, or should I try and keep out of the way?"

"You'll keep out of the way and you'll be happy about it, you little she demon!"

Angelica nodded quickly at her blustering Uncle. "Yes, Uncle Vernon!" she squeaked. "I just - I figured I might help Miss Trudoe out over the holidays. She lives alone, and if she's not visiting family, I just thought I could try and be of some help!"

Vernon snarled, but walked away without a word to Angelica, just muttering under his breath about heathens and freaks belonging together. The girl shrugged. That was . . . Actually a much better reception than she'd expected. She walked around the car to open boot and began pulling at her trunk, bracing her feet on the bumper to get better leverage.

The trunk fell on her, of course. She should have expected that.

Quietly, so as not to disturb her relatives, Angelica pulled her trunk up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom of the house - filled with even more broken toys than it had been the past summer, Angelica noticed with distaste. How had Dudley managed to do that while away at Smeltings? She turned her trunk on it's end and shoved it between her wardrobe and the wall, where it wouldn't be easily noticed, then proceeded to pull out a flat cardboard box from a stack under her bed, popped it into the right shape, and began filling it with Dudley's old toys. She could probably fix them with a _reparo_ charm, and Angelica was willing to bet that the annual toy drive the Little Whinging fire department held every year would appreciate them much more than Dudley ever would - and wasn't like he'd miss them, at any rate.

With that done, Angelica flopped onto her cot, ignoring the creak of the springs, and fell asleep.

It was . . . Unfortunately easy to convince her relatives to let her stay at Prue's house for the holidays. She mentioned at breakfast that Miss Trudoe had been happy to have her help decorating her house for Yule - Uncle Vernon made a sound like a choking cat when Angelica said the word - and had offered to let her stay the night if things ran late, so that the Dursley's wouldn't have to stay awake late waiting for her. After lunch, Angelica used a little witchcraft to clean up the kitchen after Aunt Petunia finally gave up on getting rid of the red gape juice stain Dudley had left on the wooden kitchen table. She made sure her Aunt was walking in just as she finished doing it, and the woman promptly shoved her into her old cupboard and rang up Miss Trudoe.

Angelica smiled in the safety of the dark cupboard as she listened to her aunt tell Prue that she 'had to take Angelica right away.' It was so much fun to manoeuvre her relatives, and they made it so easy. She was going to celevbrate Yule with Prue! She made sure not to cheer out loud, and slipped the smile off her face when the latch came undone on her cupboard door.

"Get up!" her Aunt hissed, pulling Angelica out into the hallway. "Go upstairs and get whatever freaky things you brought with you, right now. That - _woman_ - will be her in ten minutes. Go!"

Angelica nodded and ran up the stairs. She grabbed a marker from her desk and wrote 'Potions supplies' on the side of the box holding Dudley's old toys, grabbed her trunk, and hauled both things down the stairs. Miss Trudoe was making small talk with Aunt Petunia. Aunt Petunia looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. "Hello, Miss Trudoe," the little girl called quietly from the top of the stairs. Prue smiled warmly.

"Hey kiddo," she said. She walked up the stairs and grabbed the other end of Angelica's trunk. "Let me help you with that."

That evening, Angelica smiled as she looked around the guest room at Prue's house. Her trunk was open at the end of the bed, and her textbooks were stacked up on the dresser. Her wand was under her pillow, and her Book of Shadows was in the bedside table drawer. The duvet was thick and white and knit. The walls were pale blue, and the hardwood floor had a large fluffy navy rug over it.

Closing her eyes, Angelica could easily imagine that this was home, and that she was Miss Trudoe's kid.

.

The next day came with all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Angelica was woken by Prue just after dawn, the woman wearing a tired smile on her face and holding a large mug of coffee in her hand. "Come on," she said, pulling the covers off of Angelica before she could nod off to sleep again. "Get up, Angie. We're going gift shopping."

"Mnnuhhuhhh . . . Nnnn"

"There's chocolate downstairs."

"MINE!" Angelica sprang from the bed and padded down the stairs in a flash, leaving a laughing Prue in her wake. _Good to know that still works_, the Whitelighter thought.

In the course of the hour, the two witches were happily singing along to the radio as Prue drove them to London. Specifically, to Watkins Books to pick up a few things she'd put on hold while Angie scoured the shelves for presents for her friends. They'd been there for a half an hour when Angelica literally ran into Prue where she was waiting near the checkout area. "Look! Look at what I found!" the dark haired gir said, bouncing up and down, her braids flailing wildly.

Prue took the paperback book she was holding up at her from her charge's hands and read the words on the cover out loud. "_Our Gods Wear Spendex: The Secret History of Comic Book Heroes_, by Christopher Knowles and Joseph Micheal Linsner." She looked away from the book and back at Angelica. "You're sure he'll like it?"

Angelica nodded emphatically. "Yep! It's only seventeen pounds, so I have enough!"

The Halliwell witch smiled and nudged the small girl toward the checkout counter. "Go on, I'll be waiting right here."

The rest of the day went in a similar fashion. They stopped at a store Prue had found sometime around October - she didn't really go into detail when Angelica asked - called Pagan Dreams. The little girl wandered around for a while while Prue picked out a present. Angelica wasn't sure who it was for, only that it was a two in one gift. Angelica, on the other hand, found a worry doll she thought was perfect for Prue, and bought it while the woman was looking for her at the other end of the store. She saw a dream catcher when she was checking out, and got the brightly coloured object for Hermione. The other girl would like it, she thought. It had lots of purple.

Soon, the duo was heading back to Nasturtium Boulevard, where Angelica was sent upstairs to wrap her presents while Prue did her own in the living room. Angelica didn't mind: she liked listening to the holiday music station while she wrapped her gifts. She took a blue calligraphy pen from Prue's office and addressed the gifts. She'd ask Prue if they could stop by Diagon Alley the next day: renting an owl from the post office would be a lot cheaper than sending Chris' present overseas to California the normal way.

.

The holidays were wonderful. Prue let Angelica call Hermione, and the two girls chattered away for over an hour - Hermione, apparently, loved her Nana and her Grandpa more than anything, but rarely got to see them even before Hogwarts because her parents were too busy with work to have time for visiting family. She was having lots of fun with her cousin Matilda, who Hermione was absolutely certain was even smarter than she was. That took Angelica by surprise, and somehow the three of them got into a very long debate on whether molasses or gingerbread cookies were better for the holidays that only ended when Jennifer Honey, Hermione's aunt, said it was time for the girls to go with their Nana to the park.

No Dursleys around was definitely an upper for the season, as well.

Prue and Angelica began decorating the house on the sixteenth. Soon, the mantle above the fireplace had some badly knit stockings hanging from it - Prue admitted that she probably never should have taken up that hobby, to which Angelica disagreed. She just should have stuck with knitting scarves and blankets - and candles all over the red cloth-covered wood. A long garland was wrapped around the stair rail and they found the perfect tree for sale, tall and full and smelling deliciously of evergreen. Prue showed Angelica how to make ornaments from pine cones that looked like miniature trees themselves, and those were stuck in all the windows and wherever it was thought they fit.

Angelica was ecstatic to run around the tree with silver and gold garlands, wrapping the tree in them to make it shine like the newborn sun. They hung silver stars and moons alongside golden suns and pentacles. Prue let Angelica put the star at the top of the tree all by herself, making Angelica puff up with pride. The girl thought they were done, until she stumbled upon a small white box marked 'home.'

"What's this?" she asked curiously, holding the box out to Prue, her half formed plan to use the leftover garlands to decorate her bedposts forgotten.

The older witch smiled and took the box from Angelica's hands gently. "I forgot about this," she murmured, opening it. She pulled out a dull bronze ornament that formed the same shape as the one on the cover of her Book of Shadows - a triquetra, Angelica remembered it was called. "My mother gave these to me and my sisters the year Phoebe was born," Prue continued, turning and hanging the ornament at the top of the tree. "That was one of the last Christmases we spent with her and my dad before they divorced."

"Christmas?" Angelica asked, tilting her head to the side. "I thought your Mum was a witch, too?"

Prue nodded. "She was. She chose to celebrate holidays with my dad, though. Only my Grams celebrated the Sabbats until my dad left. After that, my sisters and I only went to church on Christmas Eve when our dad was in town every few years."

Angelica nodded. "Oh."

Prue laughed. "Don't worry about it. There are some molasses cookies in the kitchen. Go get a few."

"WHOOHOO!" Angelica cheered, running into the kitchen, her long braids whipping out behind her. Prue laughed. Such a silly girl. Such a sweet one.

.

**AN/AR: Anyone who gets the reference about Hermione's family gets a virtual hot chocolate. And, yes, I'm taking a few liberties with the Halliwells. Wicca was popularised in the 1950's and 1960's, which is when Penny was young, and at that point, in my little fan fiction world, she began celebrating Wiccan holidays instead of just practising witchcraft without any attached religion like her family had for so long. She ended up making a bit of a mish-mash of beliefs she followed, and that's what she taught her daughter, and what the girls were taught. They didn't know about their active powers or anything, they just knew the path their family followed. Just thought I'd clear that up before anyone got utterly confused.**

**- Merc.**


	18. Chapter 18

**AN/AR: Iluvaikka, I LOVE YOU. You got it! : )**

**You guys got Chris this chapter - isn't he warm and open and loving? Like Helga Hufflepuff, but a boy, in the modern day . . . *snorts* Right.**

**- Merc.**

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Yule at the Halliwell house had always been . . . Busy, Chris thought. Even now, his mom was at her restaurant, Halliwell's, fixing some new chef or other's mess up with the turkey they were serving Christmas Eve and Christmas day. They got a lot of business those days since they had good food and were one of the only places open then. Chris always wondered why people never asked how come they weren't at home celebrating like most people were. If they did, he wondered what answers his mom gave them. She was the most 'in the broom closet' of the women in his family, with his Aunt Paige being the most out.

Vaguely, the boy wondered when his mom would let him attend one of his aunt's solstice celebrations.

There was a crash downstairs, and Chris leapt up and orbed into the family room at the bottom of the stairs. "Where's the demon?" he asked quickly.

Wyatt groaned from where he'd . . . stuck his head through the wall. "It's called a fucking _old_ t.v. that Dad's really gotta throw out," the blond boy groaned.

Chris shifted his weight onto his back leg and crossed his arms. "You have got to be kidding me," he said in a flat tone of voice. "You got your ass kicked by that thing _again?_" Piper would be washing their mouths out with soap right now, but she was at the restaurant, his dad was at the club, and he wasn't at school, so Chris felt perfectly free to swear and underline just how much of an idiot his perfect older brother was being.

Said idiot glowered at him. "Just help me out."

"Uh, no," Chris said with a grin. "And _you_'re still under the no orbing spell for sneaking out, so have fun." With a mocking salute, the dark haired Halliwell orbed into the kitchen to get a snack.

Back in the family room, Wyatt looked up when he heard the door open and close. "Hello?" he called.

Melinda, his little sister, stepped into view. She paused when she saw him, and blinked.

"Mel!" Wyatt said cheerfully. "My favourite sister! Help me out? Please?"

The nine year old girl stared for all of a half second before she shrugged. "Nope," she said, popping the 'p.' "Bye-bye."

"Melinda!" the Twice Blessed called out. "I'm your brother!"

But Melinda was already walking into the dining room in search of grape juice. "And I'm thirsty," she called over her shoulder.

Wyatt slumped. Then he stiffened again when the wall dug into his throat. He was _so_ dead when his parents got home.

.

"Ah, the sweet sounds of angry drivers and birds dying of smog."

Chris stared at his nine year old cousin Katherine - Kat to everyone but her mother when she was angry at the girl - who was standing with her arms spread out, her head tilted toward the sky, and a smile on her face. "You're seriously messed up, you know that?" he asked. The red haired girl shrugged and opened her light brown eyes, the only way to tell her apart from her twin sister, who had dark ones that were nearly black.

"What's wrong with that?" she shrugged, falling back onto the park grass. "How was that piggy place?"

"Hogwarts," Chris sighed, falling onto the grass beside her. "And it was good. I made a couple of friends, I like transfiguration, I was sorted into Slytherin . . . "

"No Wyatt."

Chris pinned his cousin with a stony glower. "Seriously, Kat?"

"Mm-hmm. Everyone but him and your mom and dad get that you don't get along. Did he stick your head in the toilet again?"

The Halliwell boy rolled his eyes. "He did that _once_, Kat, on a dare, and you were six then. How do you remember this stuff?"

"You threatened to do the same to me if I told your mom," the younger Mitchell daughter said easily.

"You want to kill me, don't you? You wan me to die out of pure annoyance."

Kat let a small smile flicker across her face. "No, but it would be interesting." There was a long pause during which Chis settled his head back on the grass and closed his eyes before she spoke again. "Mom's trying to convince Dad to unbind Tam's powers. Again."

"He still won't agree?" Chris asked, cracking his eyes open. Kat shook her head, still lying back on the grass with her eyes closed, so some pieces of grass came up and stuck to her hair.

"Tam and I are going to brew an unbinding potion if he says no again. We're almost ten, that's old enough to control our own powers."

When Tamora and Kat were four, Kat asked their mother, Chris' Aunt Paige, what her sister's power was, since neither of them knew. Paige told them the truth - Tam her Aunt Piper's power of molecular acceleration, but it was bound because she came into it as a baby and it was too dangerous. Kat convinced her mother to bind her powers, too - she decided it wasn't air that she was the only one of her siblings able to use magic. Henry was adopted, and didn't have an active power, and her twin had her powers bound.

Chris nodded. He figured they'd decide on that eventually. "Do you want me to help you brew it?" he asked.

Kat made an agreeing noise.

"Okay."

.

" . . . is really Yule  
>And Santa's Pagan too!<p>

He's got that Buddha belly,  
>And his Pop's the Holly King.<br>You've dressed him in that British Coat,  
>The caps a Nordic thing.<p>

You took the horns right off his head  
>And stuck them on his deer!<br>But he still flies high like Jupiter  
>With a belly full of beer!"<p>

Chris looked up from where he was reading on the couch in the parlour - he inwardly snorted at the all too fancy name fro the den - when he heard the distinctive sound of his cousins PJ, Tam, and Kat running down the stairs, singing with his sister Melinda. _Huh,_ he thought. _Kinda odd we don't call either Prudence that. PJ and Mel instead._

Weird.

It was the morning of the solstice, and might be five o'clock at the latest - it was still dark out, and Chris had been up since three because he'd had a nightmare. Not that he'd admit it of course. The would have been future was pretty freaky, though. "Hi Tamora, hi Katherine, hi Prudence," he called evenly over his book. The latter two girls, both sharing the same name, both stopped singing and glared at him.

"My name's not Prudence!" they shouted.

"Shh," Chris hushed. "You'll wake up the adults. It's not even seven yet."

PJ tilted her head to the side in confusion. "But they said they were gonna wake up at six today."

Chris snorted. "Right."

"STOCKINGS!" Tamora squealed, catching sight of the brightly coloured things bulging where they hung, tacked onto the mantle. Chris made a mental note to make sure there was wood putty to fix the holes that would be left later, after the tacks were pulled out. He was pretty sure that there was an entire line where the mantle was more putty than wood, now. Either way, he held out a hand and pulled his own bright green stocking over to him before the girls could knock it over in three . . . Two . . . One. The two end stocking fell to the ground when the four girls grabbed theirs. Hot pink for Tamora, purple for Kat, Red for Melinda, and pale pink for P.J.

Setting aside his book, Chris began rifling through his stocking, pulling things out and setting them in front of him on the couch. Candy, sketching pencils, annual dollar coin - oh, cool, it was a Sacagawea one, those were beyond rare . . . Chris blinked in surprise when he felt something else in the bottom of his stocking. It felt odd. Gripping his fingers around it, he tugged the leather cord out and examined it. His jaw dropped when he saw the small silver triquetra at the end og the cord. It had a small, triangular yellow stone - citrine, Chris realised, his birthstone - in the centre, that glittered brightly and cheerfully in the light of the many lamps in the room. It looked like the ones his mother and aunts all wore, and the one his brother had. Slowly, Chris let a small smile grow on his face, and slipped the necklace over his head and under his shirt.

Already the best Yule ever.

.

The family Yule ritual was . . . As convoluted as usual, but left Chris with a light, happy feeling at the end. He'd lit the sun candle this year, and the cousins and Melinda ran all through the house flipping lights on and shouting 'Welcome back, light! Welcome back, light!' His mom walked by, carrying an empty cookie platter, and Chris stood up from his place lounging on the stairs. "Hey, mom?"

Piper turned. "Yeah, honey?"

Chris shifted slightly from foot to foot. "Um, I was wondering, since it's Yule, could I . . . could I call my friend Angie? She celebrates it, too, and I wanted to wish her a happy one."

The eldest Halliwell sister blinked in surprise. "Well, sweetie, I don't know . . . She lives in England, doesn't she?"

Chris' face was pleading. "Please, Mom? Just one phone call, it won't take more than ten minutes."

Piper bit her lip, but nodded. "Okay. Use the phone in the hallway upstairs, it'll be quiet there, okay, peanut?"

Her middle son grinned. "Sure mom. Bye!" And then he turned and ran up the stairs, tripping over his own feet when he neared the top.

She shook her head. "Chris . . . "

Chris shifted his weight anxiously as he waited for Angelica to pick up. She'd given him Miss Trudoe's number, saying something about how the Dursley's wouldn't want any callers over the holidays - right, Chris had thought, but accepted the statement he was absolutely certain was a lie - and now he was just waiting for her to pick up. England was, like, eight hours ahead, right? It was almost midnight right now - Yule was pretty much the only night where _everyone _was allowed to stay up late in his family - so it should be eight in the morning in England. Angie should be up right now, shouldn't she? . . .

There was a faint click of a phone being picked up off the hook and a sleepy voice yawned, "Hullo?"

"Angie!"

There was a pause, and Angelica half asked in surprise, "Chris? What're you doing calling so ea-ea-eeaaarly?" she yawned.

"Late, here. It's midnight. How was your Yule? Did you get my present?" Oh, he thought, that was a stupid question. Of course she got his present, he'd delivered it himself like some sort of stupid Santa imitator.

"Yeah!" Angelica said happily. "Chris, I loved it! I can wear my hair in something other than braids, now! Hair bands always fall out, but Prue helped me with the combs and they stayed in all day, and - oh my gods, Chris, it's beautiful, where'd you get it?"

Chris grinned. "Oh come on, Ang, a magician can't reveal _all_ his secrets, can he?"

He could practically hear her pout. "Berk. Did you like mine? Is it there? I owled it, so I'm not sure if it arrived in time . . . You did get it, didn't you?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, Angelica, I got it. The owl flew right into the parlour window this morning. My cousin Kat let it in, and your present was the first thing I opened."

"You liked it?"

"Angie," Chris laughed, "it's superheroes and gods, I'm a boy - of course I like it! And now I've got to convince mom to let me bring my comic books to school with me . . . "

"Oh, no!" Angelica groaned. "I've created a bloody Frankenstein!"

"_Angelica, no swearing,"_ came a muted vice in the background.

"Who's that?" Chris asked.

"Prue," Angelica answered. "She thinks I'm getting a potty mouth."

"We-ell . . . "

"Chris Perry! I do _not_ swear that much!"

"Okay, okay! No middle names!"

"Nnn!" Angelica said. Chris stuck his tongue out at the phone, like he was absolutely certain his friend was doing.

"Nn back!"

"Chris!" Piper called up the stairs. "Ten minutes! Say good bye!"

Chris sighed. "I gotta go," he said, "Mom said."

Angelica made a sad noise on the other end of the line. "Okay," she said sadly. "See you on the train to school?" she asked hopefully. Chris grinned.

"Yeah, Angie," he said. "Sure."

.

**AN/AR: Can I please get an 'Awwwwww'? Chris and Angie are so cute together, I think, even more than I expected. : )**

**- Merc.**


	19. Chapter 19

"_Chris!_"

Chris looked up from where he was struggling to pull his suitcase toward the train - the wheels had fallen off the large orange monstrosity when Wyatt got bored - to see Angelica running toward him, her hair out of its tight braids for once, and whipping around behind her. She was wearing the hair combs he gave herm Chris noted with a quick grin. "Angie," he smiled, straightening up.

"How were the rest of your hols?" Angelica asked, bouncing on the balls f her feet and grinning excitedly.

"Okay," she shrugged. "My cousins Tamora and Kat dragged me and Henry around San Francisco to carry their bags, and I earned a lot in tips working at my mom's restaurant."

Angelica tilted her head to the side. "You're a waiter?" she asked. "Do you have pictures?"

Chris shook his head slowly. "No . . . why?"

The short girl shrugged. "Just wondering what you'd look like in a suit," she said playfully.

"Uh huh . . . " Chris said cautiously. Now would be a good time to change the subject. "How was your vacation?"

Angelica practically glowed at the question. "It was brilliant!" she exclaimed. "Prue took me to London, and we spent forever in the different shops, it took forever, and got a bit boring, but some of the things were just _fascinating_. We even took a trip to Oxford to visit a friend of hers, Giles. I don't remember what his first name was, but he's really interesting. He has _so_ many books! Oh! We went to Blackwell's, too - it has three miles of books, it's completely - it's perfect."

Thankfully, Angelica took a deep breath before continuing at a much slower pace, making it easier for Chris to figure out what the girl was babbling. "We had a really simple solstice. I liked it. Prue let me light the sun candle, and we did an all night vigil in the back garden, with a little bonfire - the Yule log lasted all night, even though I was afraid it wouldn't. We meditated, and the sunrise was so _beautiful_, Chris, the sky was nearly violet from the clouds . . . " Angelica trailed off, obviously lost in the happy memory of it. She shook her had with a small smile. "The Dursleys let me stay the entire holiday, I didn't spend more than the first night at their house. It was perfect, it really was."

Chris smiled. "Well, I'm glad you had fun," he said. "Now, help me with my bag."

The curly haired witch snorted. "It's a suitcase, Chris. What did you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything!" the boy exclaimed. "Wyatt got bored!"

"And destroyed the bottom of your suitcase?" Angelica asked, clearly disbelieving.

Chris crossed her arms. "_Yeah._"

Angelica frowned. "I don't think I like your brother," she murmured. She spoke at a normal tone of voice next. "Here," she said, "we're allowed to use our wands on the platform, _Wingardium Leviosa!_ Come on, our compartment's in the back. Prue thought we wouldn't get disturbed back there." She smiled brightly. "Race you!"

After a mad dash for the train that consisted of many sharp turns, back dashes, and jumping over luggage and - in a few cases - pets, Chris beat Angelica to their compartment by a full ten seconds. "Hurry up, Ang," he smirked, "I'm getting old here."

She kicked him in the shin. Ignoring her friend's hopping on one foot while saying as many not-swear words as he could think of, she waved her wand at the door with a muttered '_Alohamora.'_ The door slid into the wall and Angelica stepped inside and lay back on the seat. "Aren't you going to come in?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

Chris glowered at her and walked stiffly inside. He moved his suitcase to the overhead storage and dropped onto the seat, still glaring. This went on for the next fifteen minutes at least, with Angelica completely ignoring his looks and burying her nose inside her book, '_The Mysterious Benedict Society,_' an American children's novel Prue had given her. Hermione and Neville came in then, Hermione's ears flushed and pink - from the cold, Chris supposed - and Neville looking, well, awkward as he usually did. "Hey, guys," he said casually, turning away from Angelica, who had yet to notice their friends come in, still completely engrossed in what she was reading.

"H-hullo," Neville muttered, settling into the seat on Chris' side closest to the door.

Hermione smiled quickly and settled down across from the stammering boy. "Good morning, Chris," she said pleasantly. "Did you have a good holiday?"

The American boy nodded. "Great. Why are you blushing?"

Hermione's already pink face turned a bright flaming cherry red. "Uh-uhm, nothing, really, just - I mean to say, that . . . "

"My Gran said she'd make a proper wife for me," Neville moaned miserably, sinking lower into his chair.

Chris couldn't help it, he really couldn't. He burst out laughing.

"It isn't funny, Christopher!" Hermione shouted, embarrassed completely. Chris just clutched his sides harder and tried to breathe around his chuckles.

"What's going on?"

It seemed that the loud noises had finally brought Angelica back to the world of those living outside of bookshelves, and she was staring around at them curiously. No one answered her, and her brow creased slightly. "Come on, I'm serious. What happened to have Chris - fall about like that? He was nearly hysterical."

For a long moment, the compartment was silent as Hermione and Neville both flushed. Chris leaned forward and whispered what had happened in Angelica's ear. She turned pink herself, and seemed to be trying to hold back a snigger or two of her own. "Oh," she said, "oh, my . . ."

"So," Hermione said somewhat loudly, clasping her hands together in her lap. "How were your holidays? Angelica? Did you all like my presents?"

Conversation picked up normally after that. Everyone was fairly happy to talk about their holiday. Neville had gotten clothes from most of his relatives, but he was really pleased about the Herbology encyclopaedia his Gran gave him. He mentioned something about visiting his parents as well, but didn't really go into it, and no one asked.

Hermione chattered for at least a half an hour about spending Christmas with her grandparents while her parents went to a conference in Germany. She was very close to her mother's side of the family; it turned out, and had lots of fun with her cousin Matilda and Aunt Jennifer. Her Aunt Rebecca's family, the Wormwoods, hadn't shown up, but then, no one really expected them to anymore. Not since they dropped Matilda off at Jennifer's when the girl was six and never picked her up again. The family hadn't seen them since, and Matilda seemed quite happy to have been adopted by her aunt. Hermione paused toward the end of her chatter, before leaning forward and saying quietly, "I think my cousin may actually be a witch."

The others in the compartment blinked in surprise. "Really?" Angelica asked? Chris leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, looking very interested. Neville looked shocked.

The bookish Gryffindor nodded. "Yes. I've never really thought about it before, you see - it's something she's done for as long as I can remember - but now that I've seen her again, and I know I'm a witch . . . Well, it's just - it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"What makes sense?" Chris asked.

"She moves things," Hermione explained hurriedly. "She moves them without touching them. Aunt Jenny calls it a miracle. No one else in the family can do it, I don't think. I know Baba - my grandfather - wasn't all that surprised at all, and Nana just looked fascinated by it all. She's - Matilda, I mean - really clever, and I know my father thinks it must be her accessing different part of her brain than most people do, but . . . What if it isn't? What if it's magic?" she asked. "Matilda's only ten, maybe she's a witch?"

Angelica shared a quick glance with Chris before looking back at Hermione's smiling face. "She uses it consciously?" she asked. "She has control over it?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. It's brilliant. I never thought accidental magic could be controlled like that . . ."

Chris shrugged. "Maybe," he said. Hermione glowed, and Angelica silently wondered as the brunette began grilling Chris to say more on his holidays that that they were 'good,' if it might be possible that Hermione's cousin Matilda might just be a witch - a real witch, not a wizarding witch.

Slowly, the green eyed girl's eyes widened. If Matilda was . . . Then might Hermione be?

It certainly bared thinking on.

.

They were halfway to the school when it began to snow. Tiny pieces of hale struck the windows of the train in a soothing thud-thud-pat pattern, and Angelica kept leaning her head down as if about to sleep, before snapping it up again and obviously forcing her eyes open. This repeated itself perhaps every three minutes at the very most. After a while, Chris finally got sick of watching her fail to stave off sleep while their other two companions had already nodded off in the cool sunlight of their compartment.

"Angie," he bit out, setting his sketchbook down in his lap, "Calm down. Sleep."

The Ravenclaw shook her head fiercely, her hair flying around her face like a lion's mane. "No," she said, "I can stay awake."

Chris sighed and slumped back in his seat. "Seriously? You're falling asleep every couple of minutes at most. You're tired. Sleep."

Angelica crossed her arms. "I don't need to," she said quietly, her eyes flickering toward Hermione and Neville. Afraid to wake them up, apparently.

"Angelica," Chris said equally quietly, "just go to sleep, okay? It's just a few hours before we reach the school."

Still Angelica shook her head. "I don't want to sleep," she said stubbornly.

Chris gave her a long, measured look. "Why not?" he finally asked after a long pause. Angelica squirmed uncomfortably and mumbled something under her breath as she looked down at her shoes. "What?" Chris asked.

"I said I'm having nightmares," Angelica whispered, turning her clasped hands over to look at her palms. Her hair fell forward, hiding her face, and the strings on her hair combs glinted in the midday sunshine.

Chris got up in his seat and kneeled down on the compartment floor to give her a hug. "Hey," he said quietly, "It's okay." he stood up again and sat in his seat, looking a little awkward. "What are they about?"

Angelica gave a tiny shrug in response. "I don't know, really," she said in a quiet voice. "I keep seeing my mum and dad - or at least I think it's them, I don't know what they look like beyond what people have told me - I see this man that looks like me, thin face, knobbly knees and all, with thick round glasses standing next to a red haired woman that's smiling, with green eyes, anyway. They're happy, and smiling. Then it turns into this . . . memory, one I have from when I was very small. I used to strain my mind for hours trying to remember . . . It's this flash of green light, and a high, cold laugh. The green light takes over everything, and then - " her voice hitched, and Angelica furiously wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. " - they die. They just fall," she finished in a whisper. She looked up to glare at Chris, "And if you ever mention this to _anyone_, Christopher Perry Halliwell, I swear I'm going to castrate you."

Chris quickly crossed his legs. "I swear, I'll never say a word, just . . . "

"What?" Angelica asked with a stony face.

The boy shrugged self consciously. "You can tell me this sort of thing, okay?" he said, not really asking her. "I'd never tell, and I'm here to listen."

Angelica's lips twitched in a sort of half smile, and she settled back into her seat, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. "I'd like that," she murmured, leaning her head against the window. Soon, she drifted off to sleep, and Chris looked down at his drawing. It was a rough sketch of Hogwarts, but he didn't really want to continue it any more. Glancing up at his dozing friend, he flipped the page and began drawing.


	20. Chapter 20

Classes started the day after the students returned to the castle. Most of them groaned about it, which confused Angelica to no end - they chose to come, didn't they? If they didn't want to do their class work, why not hide out on the train, and huddle up in the dorms? Thankfully for her peace of mind, Angelica wasn't alone in her thoughts on the matter- Hermione agreed, and Chris was 'neutral.' As it was, most of the first week back was review to make sure they hadn't forgotten everything over the two week long break.

The second Thursday back, Professor Flitwick had all the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor First Years pair off in Charms class - they were going to learn the Repairing Charm.

"Alright everybody!" the Professor squeaked, "I want you all to take something of yours from your bag - quill, for example - and break it. Then your partner will try to repair it for you! Remember, the incantation is reh-PAH-roh, don't forget!"

There was much murmuring and rummaging through book bags as the students all tried to find something they didn't care was broken. Chris grabbed a Muggle hardcover from his bag and set it on the table, then snapped the front cover in two. Angelica stared, absolutely horrified.

"Chris!" she shouted. "That's a _book!_"

The Slytherin looked entirely confused. "Yeah, and we're learning to fix it," he shrugged. "Go ahead, try it."

With a light huff, the Ravenclaw did just that. She pushed her sleeves back and flicked her wand. "_Reparo._"

_The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ stubbornly stayed broken on their table, the gold lettering winking mockingly at Angelica. She glowered. "_Reparo! Reh-PAH-roh! Reparo! Reparo, _blast it!"

Chris stifled a snigger. Angelica was pink in the cheeks and her mouth was drawn up in an angry scowl at the stubborn book. She looked like she was going to throw the book across the room the second she'd fixed it.

"_Reparo!_"

Finally, the cover split itself back together . . . Upside down. Chris didn't bother to hold it back this time, he laughed.

"It isn't _funny,_ Chris!" Angelica said, stamping her foot. It wasn't! The boy just snorted and shook his head.

"Here, I'll fix it," he said, still chuckling quietly. He pulled a small red plastic thing from his pocket and flicked the blade out - it was a Swiss army knife, Angelica realised. She wondered where he'd gotten the thing, as she hadn't realised he had one. He set the blade against the seam between the 'repaired' sides of the cover and slid it down. Setting the knife down, Chris tugged, and the upside down portion came away in his hand. He turned it around so it was the right way, the edges of each side just an inch apart. "There you go," he said. "Try again."

Angelica frowned, but didn't get angry - it hadn't helped before after all. After a moment, she flicked her wand at the book and said clearly, "_Reparo._" The book snapped back together with a dull '_thump_' and looked as if nothing had happened to it at all. Angelica grinned. "Yes!" she cheered. Chris grinned at her and shook his head fondly.

The Ravenclaw's 'happy dance' of jumping up and down on the balls of her feet caught Flitwick's attention very quickly, and he rushed over to see what had happened. "Oh, delightful!" he exclaimed. "Very good work, Miss Potter! Five points to Ravenclaw!"

Angelica blinked in surprise for a moment - had she been that noticeable?

.

Before either witch knew it, it was nearly Imbolc. February first found Angelica flitting around her dorm room, looking for her altar box, because she was _sure_ she'd packed it, she just wasn't sure where it _went_. As it was a Friday, her room mates were out on the Quidditch pitch watching the Ravenclaw team practise, so thankfully there wasn't anyone to made snide comments.

Angelica straightened up from where she was rummaging through her trunk. Her _room mates_. Had they taken it? She didn't want to think so, but she'd checked the bathroom, her trunk, under her bed, under her mattress, her side table, and her wardrobe. Where else could it be? Her back ramrod straight, Angelica strode over to the bed next to hers - Padma's - and knelt down beside the Indian girl's trunk. She pushed the unlocked lid open and began going through it.

Books, cauldron, vials, more books, make up - weren't they a bit young for that? - a mirror, dolls . . . and no little wooden box with stars and moons and suns painted on the top. Sighing, Angelica stood up and closed the lid. Padma's side table next, and then her wardrobe, and then under her bed. After that she'd go through the girl's backpack. Angelica didn't like that she felt she had to go through her room mates things, but unfortunately, her worried ended up proving true - underneath Mandy Brocklehurt's bedside table, right at the far end of the room, was a small, light wooden box, with little celestial symbols painted across the lid in gold and silver. Angelica brushed at her eyes angrily, refusing to cry over it.

She pressed her fingers into the seam where the lid met the actual box and pulled. Nothing. Angelica could have dropped in relief. The spell she'd placed on it before leaving over the holidays was still on it, Mandy couldn't have gotten it. She stood up and took the box back to her bed, drawing the curtains closed for privacy.

"A spell I did I must undo,  
>To unlock this, to get into<br>My altar box, without further ado."

Angelica waited a moment, and made to pry the box open again. The lid came off easily and Angelica double checked that everything was there. It looked like it was. Her athame, her crystals, her pentacle, and the tiny brass cauldron she'd fallen in love with at the charity shop Prue took her to last year . . . Her candles and incense cones were there, too. Angelica breathed a sigh of relief.

Her watch beeped.

The eleven year old glared at the tiny thing on her wrist, but climbed off her bed anyway. It was time to go to her and Chris' little meadow and make sure everything was prepared for Imbolc the next day. She grabbed her book bag from beside her bed and replaced the books and parchment with her altar box and a spiral bound notebook.

"S-Scotland is fricking _cold_ in the winter!" Chris said when she met him on the stairs to the castle grounds, warmly bundled in a sweater, winter coat and a hat. He was rubbing his arms.

"Why didn't you wait inside, then?" she asked. The boy glowered. "Oh, come off it. You're wearing just as much as I am, you're fine. Now come on." With that, the tiny girl grabbed her best friend's arm and began to drag him through the snow to the forbidden forest.

Bane was waiting there for them.

In an instant, Chris was standing in front of Angelica with his hands in front of him, ready to throw the centaur across the clearing if he thought he had to. The black haired creature snorted in disgust ad trampled his hooves angrily.

"I am not here to have a silly fight with a _human,_" he sneered. "Only to tell you to leave."

Angelica neatly stepped around Chris and crossed her arms. "Why should we? We're not causing any harm."

Bane threw his head back with an angry noise halfway between a whinny and a loud snarl. "Impudent witch! This forest belongs to the centaurs! You shall do as we say!"

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Is that what all the centaurs say?" he asked mildly. Bane stamped his feet angrily. "Okay, then. When all of you agree that we don't belong here, get back to me. Until then, we're kind of in the middle of something."

Bane snarled and ran at Chris. Angelica let out a small scream. "Chris!" she yelled. The boy, however, though he looked faintly surprised, didn't get scared like his friend. He jerked one of his hands upward, and Bane found himself in the air, still red faced and angry.

"Cease your wizardry on me, foal!" he shouted. Chris shook his head.

"I would," he said, "But I'm not using any and you tried to hurt me and my friend. So tell me, why would I want to let you down? Why shouldn't I jut keep you up here for as long as I want?"

Angelica blinked at Chris in surprise. He and she both knew he couldn't even hold up a trunk for more than an hour, how he expected to . . . _Oh_. He knew that, and _she_ knew that, but Bane didn't. The centaur had no way to call his bluff. Angelica watched in fascination as Bane shouted at Chris, trying to intimidate him into setting him free. It wasn't working, but she noticed her friend's arm beginning to shake slightly, and he was tense, He couldn't keep this up for much longer. Looking around, Angelica searched for some sign of the rest of Bane's herd.

Nothing. They weren't nearby, which was probably why Bane felt confident enough to try and scare them off, even after he'd been yelled at for it last time. Which really didn't help her right now, or Chris?

"Chris," Angelica began, "do you know a spell to get a message to someone? Ronan, maybe?"

Bane roared about the sheer impunity of her deigning to bother a centaur, but both children ignored him. Chris nodded. His arm was shaking a lot more, now. "Yeah," he bit out. "It's in my spell book, the black one in my coat pocket."

Angelica nodded. Spell book. She might want to make one of those for herself . . . A lot less personal than a Book of Shadows, and if she carried one with her she wouldn't have to worry about her Book being lost or stolen all the time, she could lock it in her altar box.

That was for later, however. Chris was becoming pale. Angelica grabbed his coat and pulled out the book - it was the only thing there, besides a pencil. Flipping through it, she nearly reached the back of the book when she found the spell.

_To Send A Message_

_To another's ears I wish to send,  
><em>_A message now to meet my ends,  
><em>_May my words now go to them,  
><em>_Once I speak them, magic send._

Angelica glanced at the rough penned in sketch in the bottom corner of the page. It looked like a ball of light. She shrugged: it didn't matter how the message was sent, just that it was received. A small line at the bottom noted that she needed to say the receiver's name and her message when she finished the spell. Got it. With a quick nod to herself, Angelica ran over the spell once more to make sure she had the cadence right, and began to speak.

"To another's ears I wish to send,

A message now to meet my ends,  
>May my words now got to them,<br>Once I speak them, Magic send!" she called out. She felt a small rush go through her, like every time she cast a spell, but held back a smile. She had to finish this first. "Ronan the Centaur, Please come to the clearing where Bane tried to attack the two children last autumn. He's doing it again. Please." With that, Angelica let the magic go.

To her shock, a small ball of bright, white light appeared in front of her mouth and whizzed away, into the forest. "I suppose now, we'll just have to wait," she said simply, hoping that Bane would stop acting like a mad man - mad centaur? - if he realised what had happened. He seemed to have completely missed what she'd done. In the few minutes it had taken Angelica to cast her spell, Chris had grown much paler, and he had a light sheen of sweat on his face. He was going to drop soon. Bane was fighting harder to get to the ground, and very slowly succeeding. Chris' arm shook terribly.

And all Angelica could do was watch. She squeezed his other arm's wrist to try and comfort the boy, but he didn't seem to notice. Oh, she hoped Ronan got back soon . . .

He did, thank the Goddess in all Her glory. The dark red half-man, half-horse came pounding into view a few moments later, three other centaurs behind him - one pale blonde, another dapple grey black hair, and another brown. They all stopped short a few feet away from the three already there. The dapple grey centaur seemed appalled, and turned quickly to Ronan.

"I thought you had said the human foals were in danger, Ronan," he said, "but look at them! They've locked him in the air."

Something in Angelica snapped. She stormed over to the - she mentally re-classed him as an Idiot, not a centaur - and glared. "Look at _Bane?_" she shouted. "Look at Chris! He's going to drop any minute now and do you know why? Because _your_ complete and utter _clot_ of a friend tried to attack us, and he's had to be holding the berk up the past ten minutes so we wouldn't get trampled!"

Grey Idiot frowned at her but said nothing, merely looking toward Ronan, who nodded his head toward Bane. "Come, Firenze, Mullein, Chervil. Let us calm him." When the four centaurs had surrounded Bane, Ronan looked to Chris. "You can let him down, now, child," he said in his slow, mournful voice. "Bane shall not harm you or the other youngling with us here."

Chris dropped his arm and fell to one knee, panting. Angelica hurried over to him. "Chris?" she asked. "Chris, are you alright?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah yeah, I'm fine," he panted. Angelica nodded, not really believing him.

"Do you want to just celebrate inside tomorrow? It's cold anyway, and . . ." she trailed off when she saw the look on his face.

"_Hell_ no," Chris declared quietly, still trying to breathe properly. "We're having Imbolc here."

Angelica nodded. "I'm perfectly fine with that. I'll start clearing some snow away from the altar so we have less to do tomorrow. Help me set up when you feel better."

Chris nodded dazedly, and lay on his back, breathing hard. Watching him, Angelica felt guilty, not just because he might not have had to hold Bane up so long if she wasn't there, but because . . . Was it . . . . It was, she knew that. She took a small pleasure in knowing that Chris, even though he had an active power, was still just as human as she was. He wasn't super. He was her friend. Angelica viciously berated herself for even thinking to be happy that he could be hurt. She'd make it up to him; she had to, even if he didn't know why.

.

**AN/AR: Imbolc is yet another Wiccan holiday. Celebrated on either February 1st or 2****nd****, generally the latter, it honours the goddess in her Maiden/Virgin form. It marks the centre point of the dark half of the year and when spring begins to show itself - the first flowers are blooming. It's a time for letting out with the old and in with the new. The goddess Brigid is generally depicted around this time. (Google her. Or Imbolc. You'll find out either way.)**


	21. Chapter 21

To put it in layman's terms, Mandy Brocklehurst was displeased. She'd had a lot of expectations coming to Hogwarts, and few of them actually happened. She hadn't expected much from the Girl Who Lived, to be true, having assumed the Potter girl would go into Gryffindor, like all Potters did. But she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, Mandy's house . . . Immediately the girl began planning. What better way to be recognised than to be friends with Angelica Potter? Next to her - who obviously couldn't be _that_ smart, she just wasn't stupid enough to be a lion - everyone would see just how brilliant Mandy was.

Only that didn't happen. After that first night at the school, Angelica Potter avoided everyone - except that American boy in Slytherin, Halliwell. A Slytherin! Angelica Potter chose to be friend with a slimy, evil, Dark wizard! And some backwater colonist, at that? It was an insult! Still, Mandy had taken solace in the fact that _obviously_ the Girl Who Lived had befriended him because she knew she couldn't keep up with the geniuses in her house, like Mandy.

But the stir that girl caused . . . She'd barely said thirty words at the welcoming feast, but the entire school was buzzing over her. Found on a Muggle front step? Not likely! But it did get the girl sympathy, to be sure . . . Stupid attention seeking Potter, had to be in the limelight, didn't she?

That comfort had lasted until they went to their first Transfiguration class. She'd understood the notes they took perfectly, of course, it was what happened after that that was the problem. Mandy hadn't been able to change her match to a needle at all. It barely had any streaks of silver in it where she'd partially managed the spell. At least she hadn't been the only one, and obviously no one else would be able to . . .

'_Five points!_'

Mandy hated those words. That Slytherin friend of Potter's managed to turn his match into a needle in barely five minutes! Then Su Li - the traitor - did it, then the Zabini boy - did his mother really kill all her husbands after the honeymoon? - and then Potter managed it. Perfect Potter.

Still, Mandy was certain that is merely meant Potter was good with brute force - after all, she must have been, to be able to defeat the Dark Lord.

But that wasn't the case at all. Potter was in the top five in each class, along with Halliwell and the Muggleborn beaver in Gryffindor . . . Granger or something. Mandy was, too - of course - but stayed around fourth or fifth place. It was absolutely grating.

It was some time around Halloween that Mandy found out she wasn't alone. Several of her dorm mates were like her - brilliant, pretty, and quite sure of that. They'd been told since they walked how good they were, because it was /true./ If that upstart, standoffish Potter chit hadn't put herself in the way, they'd all be the top girls in their year. As it was, Morag and Padma were in the same spot she was - shoved out of their deserved place. So they came up with a plan to get back at the upstart half blood - happily ignoring the fact that Mandy, herself, was half blood and Morag was a Muggleborn.

They waited until Potter left to go do who knew what with Halliwell the morning they were all due to leave for home for the holidays, and began going through the girl's trunk. Padma found it with a well-placed locating charm. Potter was stupidly fond of her starry box, always grabbing it and going through it on her bed with the curtains closed so no one could see.

"I've got it!" Padma exclaimed happily. She clenched her hands around the lid and pulled. Nothing. Nothing happened at all. "What in the world?" the Indian girl asked, confused. Neither Mandy nor Morag had an answer for her as to what must be going on. "Is there some sort of sticking charm on this? _Finite._" She pulled again. "_Finite Incantatum._" Still nothing.

The three of them tried several different ways of opening the box - Morag even got a pocket knife from her bed and tried to hack through the wood, but it didn't even make a dent, and her knife went flying out of her hand and across the room. At that point the three girls gave up - they didn't have any more time, and someone could show up any minute. They needed to get their things and board the train already. They weren't going to find out what was in that stupid box - yet - but that didn't mean they still couldn't mess with Potter a bit. Mandy grabbed the little box and stuffed it under her bedside table.

It served Potter right, of course. She was hardly a _proper_ Ravenclaw.

.

Angelica was . . . Somewhat disappointed, actually, by the last half of the year. Very little went on. She and Chris celebrated the holidays together, Bane seemed to have decided not to show up any longer . . . And Angelica began avoiding the school ghosts, because she got a small, throbbing headache above her eyes whenever she was near them. She didn't tell Chris, of course, because he'd get upset, and if she told Hermione, she'd get sent to the Hospital Wing.

Matilda wrote Hermione often, Angelica noticed. And that was what caused the biggest happening of interest, one cloudy day in late April.

Chris and Angelica were in the library together, with Angelica leaning against one of the tall, thin windows and trying desperately to ignore her itching nose because she had to stay still. Chris' mother had asked for pictures of his friends, 'Angela,' 'Nigel' and 'Harmony.' Chris did so, and was going to add a note on the back of each picture reading the subject's name. He was almost finished with Angelica's portrait, and had promised that if she didn't keep perfectly still, he'd find portrait of Medusa and make her look at it so that she would.

Needless to say, Angelica kept very still after that.

Hermione, burst in on them, jumping up and down frantically, and Chris fell off his stool in surprise. Angelica very quickly scratched her nose.

"Chris! Angelica!" the girl was saying, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "You'll never _believe_ what Matilda just wrote! I was right - well, sort of, I - actually, come on, let's talk somewhere private." Before either student could protest or even think to ask what Hermione was going on about, the girl had grabbed them by their sleeves and was dragging them out of the Library and to an empty classroom. She sat them both down on a _very_ dusty bench, and began telling her story.

"Well, I suppose I ought to start at the beginning. You see, I was staying at my grandparent's with Aunt Jenny and Cousin Matilda when my letter came, and they all know about Hogwarts and me being a witch and so on. Well, as you know, I've been writing to her, and she's been writing back, and we've been discussing how in the world Matilda can move things - it's not _logical,_ you realise. Well, apparently, Baba took her aside a few days ago - a week really, since she wrote the letter - and told her that our family comes from a long line of witches.

"She thought he meant wizards, of course, but he _didn't_. Witches, as in witchcraft, with active 'powers' like Matilda's. He said the Honey family hasn't really had a set power for it's descendants like most line - he listed a few examples, but Matilda didn't tell me them all - but that telekinesis and clairvoyance. That's moving things without touching them, and . . . I'm not really sure how to explain clairvoyance It's like being able to touch something and learn it's history, you see. Matilda said that Baba said that he has that one.

"Beyond even _that,_ demons exist. Real demons! And witches are a sort of defence against them along with some sort of eternal prophesied person called a 'Slayer' but there's only one of them, and they mainly fight vampires and don't last very long at it. It's just - it's mind blowing, isn't it? She said Baba thinks I might be one, as well, since I'm a witch - er, wizard, but you do know what I mean, don't you? I sort of hope I might be, but then, I don't know, it seems dangerous, doesn't it, and I . . ."

Hermione paused, and really looked closely at her two friends. They looked surprised, yes, but not half so much as she would have expected. "You knew," she said slowly. "You know. About witches and demons and the like. _You knew,_ and you didn't think to _tell me?_ I told you about Matilda after Christmas! Why didn't you say anything!" The Granger girl looked hurt, betrayed, and angry, and Angelica felt like crumpling into a tiny ball and becoming invisible.

"We . . . How could we, Hermione?" Chris asked. He had that look on his face again; the one he always had when he thought an answer should be obvious and was being very stubborn about it. "What would you have said? You would have thought we were insane, that my whole family was just witches and wizards that used accidental magic because they'd never been given a wand. How could we have told you, tell me that? For all we knew, your cousin really was just that brilliant that she could channel her mental power through her eyes. We didn't know, so how could we tell you? Tell me that."

Hermione slumped down, no longer looking angry, but still betrayed. "You're my friends," she whispered, "my very _best_ friends, and you didn't tell me. I just wish you would have told me."

Angelica stood up from hr seat on the bench and hugged the girl. "Hermione," she said, "don't you think we would have? You're our friend, we couldn't keep it a secret always. Friends don't do that to each other. We just didn't know how . . . Shh, shh, don't cry, please, please Hermione, please don't be upset, it's okay, it's alright."

Chris stood up to, and hesitantly patted the brown haired girl on the back. Hermione sniffle and looked up from where she had rested her chin on Angelica's shoulder. "I . . . I suppose I understand," she said. "But no more secrets, right? Please, none?"

Angelica nodded, a smile lighting up her face. Hermione wasn't angry at her any more. Things would be alright. "No secrets," she agreed wholeheartedly. "Chris?"

He shook his head. "None that are mine," he said simply. "If I can tell you, I will." Both girls rolled their eyes at him.

"Slytherin," they declared. Chris nodded with a smirk. "Yep."

"Now," Angelica said, picking up the conversation, "it's time for Chris and I to tell you about ourselves - all about our selves . . ."

Chris cut in. "I'll go first," he said, clearing his throat slightly. "I have an older brother and a little sister, Wyatt and Melinda. Wyatt is the Twice Blessed child, prophecies three hundred years before he was born. He would be wise and powerful and be saviour of the world, the only being able to match the power of the Charmed Ones . . . If he was raised right. If he was evil, he'd destroy the world. My future self came from a time where he did just that. He's good, now, even if he's still a jerk. He was born the day magic rested, and the Aurora Borealis could be seen over San Francisco - Imbolc, 1988.

"That's okay, right? One Superman in the family, what an honour. Well, my mom and her sisters are the Charmed Ones, the most powerful good witches to ever walk the Earth. My dad used to be an angel, a Whitelighter, and when my mom and her sister were turned into Greek Goddesses, he was turned into an Elder - kind of like an Archangel. So, I'm part Elder, Wyatt's part Whitelighter, and the Elder's messed with Melinda so that she would be part Whitelighter, too. When my mom and aunt's retire, Wyatt, Melinda and I will be the new Charmed Ones because we're the eldest.

"We're from the Warren line of witches. Melinda Warren was the only witch burned at the stake in the Salem Witch trials, and her line has the powers of telekinesis, premonition, and could stop time - freeze something the way it is for a short time, anyway. My Mom can do that and blow things up, too. Aunt Phoebe can see the future, levitate, and feel other people's emotions. Aunt Paige is half Whitelighter because my grandmother had an affair with hers, and she can move things by orbing them, and orb herself and other people." Chris paused, and swallowed. "I've got eight cousins, three of them are part cupid, and I would have a ninth that was a quarter demon if his dad hadn't been the Source of All Evil. He's still around actually, but isn't evil any more and is back. He comes around sometimes to watch us kids and flirt with my Aunt Phoebe to make Uncle Coop - the Cupid - jealous. We found out after he came back that he'd been possessed by the Source after helping Vanquish him. It wasn't his choice. I'm the one he gets along with best - which he says is weird, but he won't tell me why.

"My cousins Tamora and Kat have their powers bound, and my cousin Henry is adopted. They're my Aunt Paige's kids. My cousin PJ is the first ever half-witch, half-cupid in the world. She can teleport other people and herself with her cupid powers, as well as sense them She came into her powers the same time Melinda and I did - I was two, Mel was one, and PJ was a few months old. Nellie and Priscilla have the same powers she does, and none of them have active witch powers yet.

"Wyatt can telekinetically orb people like my Aunt Paige, blow them up with orbs, create waves of energy, orb, sense people, heal them, make shields, conjure things, resists anything that tries to harm him, manipulate his voice and limited retinopathy. He can freeze things like our mom. Melinda can orb, hover in the air, telekinetically orb, is resistant to harm like Wyatt, and see the future like my Aunt Phoebe. I'm telekinetic, can control light and electricity, sense people, telekinetically orb things like all my siblings, orb, resist harm, and understand any language I hear. That future self I mentioned? He died the day I was born. I'm the only one of my family that doesn't have brown or blue eyes."

Chris sat back and crossed his arms. "Done," he said simply. "Angie, you're up."

Angelica snorted. "Okay . . ." she drawled. "Not much to tell here," she shrugged. "I was left on my Aunt and Uncle's doorstep a few days after my parents died, and they took me in. They don't like magic, and I make a point not to use it around them. I found out about witchcraft when I was seven or eight and teleported onto the school roof. Accidentally Apparated. My music teacher, Miss Trudoe, found me, and told me about magic. She started teaching me. I don't have an active power, and if I get one, it probably won't be for another year or two. They tend to crop up during puberty in first generation witches. I celebrate the Sabbats with Miss Trudoe during the holidays and with Chris during school. Oh," she added, leaning in as if it were a great secret she was going to reveal, "I'm also called the Girl Who Lived by wizards."

The three friends laughed, and Angelica felt lighter than she had in a long time. No more secrets. This was nice.

.

**AN/AR: Nearly 3000 words! A bit of a filler/explanation chapter, yes. What do you think? Drop a review, a PM, anything. :)**

**- Merc.**


	22. Chapter 22

The end of the year came. There were lots of rumours rushing through the school - someone tried to steal the Cerberus on the Third Floor Corridor, Dumbledore fought Voldemort under the school, that sort of thing, which, according to a few of Chris' older Slytherin Housemates, wasn't an uncommon thing, these sorts of tales happened every year - and Quirrell had disappeared.

The Great Hall was decked in green and silver to celebrate Slytherin winning the House Cup - their table looked like they were having a party. More than a few were loudly boasting about how many points they'd earned, and Chris rolled his eyes across the table at Angelica, who laughed, causing the students near her to quietly ask if she was insane.

"No," she replied honestly. "My Aunt Petunia had me tested." The latter was, of course, a lie, but the looks on her housemate's faces was absolutely hilarious.

If any of them were going to say anything - Mandy Brocklehurst looked like her words were very important - they weren't able to, because at that moment, Dumbledore stood up at the head table.

"Another year gone!" the old man said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Angelica could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. She also saw Chris 'accidentally' knock his over into the snotty boy's lap. She laughed again, and a few Ravenclaws shifted away from her.

The feast was, as they always were, brilliant, and Angelica went to bed that night smiling and decided that it had been one of the best nights of her life. Her dorm mates went to bed shortly after her, and were soon asleep.

Angelica poked her head out in between her bed curtains. The other girls all slept with theirs open, and were sleeping soundly. Still . . . It didn't hurt to be careful. She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and whispered "_Somnus,_" several times, pointing at each girl in turn as she said the spell. It should keep them asleep for another five hours if they weren't shaken awake or something of that sort.

Quickly, Angelica slipped out of her bed and began gathering up her things. She didn't want to wait to pack in the morning like the other girls would be, because then she wouldn't know if anyone had stolen her things. It was much better to start and pack now, when she could cast a location charm and be able to find her things easily.

Indeed, she ended up needing to cast it. Her altar box was missing again, this time in Morag MacDougal's wardrobe drawer. Angelica glowered at the girl. "Another you have stolen from," she whispered, "Why is much a conundrum. Until you see the error of your ways, Your deeds return to you both ways. Good and Bad, Neutral and None, You will remember what you've done."

Angelica sniffed at the sleeping girl's form and walked back to her trunk to put her box away. So maybe a karma spell on Morag wasn't _nice._ She wouldn't be harmed by it . . . Any more than she harmed anyone else. And since the most that would happen would be her things going missing like Angelica's had, Angelica felt no qualms about casting the spell on her. She hated thieves, as she'd told Mandy very clearly before she used a sticking charm to attach her to the common room wall by her under things.

It was another hour before Angelica had all her things packed, and by that point she was almost dead on her feet. She trudged into the bathroom for a quick shower and fell into bed. She wanted some sleep before the carriages left in the morning, and considering it was nearly midnight, she ought to get it now if she would get it ever.

The next morning, as she ran into the Great hall with her trunk to grab a bite of food before leaving, Angelica was surprised to see the teachers rushing around, handing out plain parchment envelopes to people. What were they? She didn't know, but decided she'd find out - getting on the train on time was more important, and she could grill someone on it later. However, it turned out she didn't have to.

Professor Flitwick ran up to her and handed her an envelope. "Your results, Miss Potter!" he squeaked, then scurried off to hand the next student their results. Angelica slid her envelope into her jeans pocket, silently glad she'd chosen to wear those today - while she had fixed them so they fit better, Dudley's old things still had large pockets she could slip the envelope in without it getting wrinkled, unlike the pockets on the girl's uniform robes, which were barely big enough to hold a tiny purse of Knuts. Not to mention it was a lot easier to run like a lunatic to the carriages if you weren't tripping over what equalled out to be a dress.

Angelica unfolded three paper serviettes, layered them together, and loaded them with a few pastries, some sausages, fruit, and toast. She served herself a few spoonfuls of baked beans and wolfed down a potato cake as well before running out of the hall to get a seat with Chris on the carriages. He was already there and waiting for her with Hermione and Neville, thankfully, and the four of them managed to grab a carriage that immediately took them to the train. Angelica did wonder how the magic on the horseless carriages knew to take them places. It must be very difficult to re-cast if the spell work ever faded.

The ride down to the train took twenty minutes or so, during which time Angelica and her friends happily munched on the food she'd brought and talked about their summer plans. Hermione was going to France with her parents for a conference of some sort, and was looking forward to learning the local history. Neville would be spending time at his Great Grand Aunt Phyllida Spore's nursery, and was very excited that she'd be letting him ten the Venomous Tentacula. Angelica suddenly realised just why the hat put the shy boy in Gryffindor.

Chris would be spending time with a few of his friends from before Hogwarts and chasing after his cousins. He also mentioned that his Aunt Paige was considering letting him Vanquish a demon himself this summer. He had before, but he wasn't supposed to then, and he made very sure that his mother didn't know about it. Angelica herself just held up a flier she'd pulled from the message board in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

'WIZARDING CULTURE CLASSES

Held from July First to August Twentieth  
>Between eleven and three o'clock, these<br>lessons will provide the new witch or wizard  
>vital knowledge of the wizarding world. Held<br>at 1315 Montgomery Lane, Staines, Middlesex.  
>Costs £50 per summer, with a different set<br>of lessons each summer for six summers.  
>Taught by Andromeda and Ted Tonks.'<p>

Hermione's face lit up and Chris read over the pale green page in interest. "Cool," he said. "Maybe Mom will let me come. I can just orb to and from, so it's not going to be that big a deal."

The other three nodded - Neville had been 'brought into the fold,' so to speak, shortly after the other three found out all about each other. Hermione stared at Chris incredulously. "_'Interesting'?_" she quoted. "Chris! Think of how good it will be to learn about the culture we're a part of now! It will be incredibly useful! Won't it, Neville?" she asked, turning to the boy. Neville shrunk down in his sea slightly. When all their eyes turned to him, but straightened quickly.

"Erm," he said, "I suppose so. I mean, I've never taken any, I grew up with magic, but I think it's a good idea. After all, it's okay when we're first and second years, if we mess up and do something rude, it's expected, actually, but once we hit third year it'll be important to follow all the rules of etiquette. Not that you aren't doing an alright job now," he added quickly, "but the wizarding world's not the Muggle one, the manners are different, and a lot of time people from Muggle backgrounds never learn this stuff, and it's looked down on not to, so . . . Yes, I think it's a good idea.

"Gran's told me about Andromeda Tonks before, she was a Black and went to school with my parents - and yours, Angelica. She was a year above yours, though, with my parents, and she and my mum were best friends, even after Andromeda was disowned for marrying a Muggleborn. She has a daughter - that seventh year girl with the weird hair, in Hufflepuff. I've met the three of them a few times when Gran has a dinner party. Andromeda knows her stuff, she's a good teacher."

The three other first years nodded happily at Neville's words. "You have to tell me _everything,_" Hermione said seriously. "Take pages and pages of notes and send me the copies. I'll send a letter to Mrs. Tonks asking if there's a way I can take the classes by owl for a week or so while I'm with Mum and Dad, oh, this is so exciting!"

Chris and Angelica both nodded, and Neville sat back and watched the three of them. He wondered what they'd learn that first summer. He hoped they liked it - he'd heard of some Muggleborn students leaving the wizarding world because they didn't like its ways, and he hoped that didn't happen to any of his friends.

A few minutes later, the quartet reached the train, and there was much scrambling to get luggage and board the bright red steam engine. They claimed one in the back, near the luggage racks, so they would have their things nearby without having to keep it all in the compartment. Angelica didn't mind - everything important to her was in her satchel, including the photo album Mr. Hagrid had given her after the Leaving Feast. She smiled at the thought of it. It had loads and loads of pictures of her mum and dad, in school, as children, and after growing up. At the very end, someone had included a photograph of her parent's graves in Godric's Hollow, with the address for the cemetery written on the bottom.

There was a lurch when the train pulled out of the station, which somehow managed to remind Hermione of their exam results. "Oh! She said, "What did all of you get?"

Angelica showed hers first - she figured it would be better to discover it with friends than to open the envelope alone. She was surprised to see that the results didn't show what score exactly everyone had gotten, just their rank compared to their classmates.

_Angelica Potter, Y1_

Astronomy_ _ _ _3rd

Charms _ _ _ _ _ _ 1st

Defence _ _ _ _ _ _1st

Herbology_ _ _ _ _5th

History _ _ _ _ _ _3rd

Potions _ _ _ _ _ _ 4th

Transfiguration _ _2nd

Overall _ _ _ _ _ _ 3rd

Angelica grinned at her score. "I'm third in the class! She exclaimed happily. "I'm even in fourth place in Potions!"

Hermione hugged her. "Congratulations!" she squealed. "Chris, you go next."

The American boy huffed, but his half smile gave him away - he wasn't annoyed at all. "Okay," he said, "I am . . ." He stopped without saying anything. Hermione huffed angrily and took the parchment from his hands.

"Chris! This is wonderful! Here, Angelica, Neville, look!"

_Chris Halliwell, Y1_

Astronomy_ _ _ _4th

Charms _ _ _ _ _ _ 3rd

Defence _ _ _ _ _ _3rd

Herbology_ _ _ _ _5th

History _ _ _ _ _ _4th

Potions _ _ _ _ _ _ 2nd

Transfiguration_ _ 3rd

Overall _ _ _ _ _ _ 4th

Chris grinned like the cat that got the canary. "Neville's next," he said simply. Angelica laughed and rolled her eyes at the boy.

Neville seemed to straighten up proudly when his friends looked at him. "Gran's going to be pleased," he said happily, unfolding his own parchment to show them his results.

_Neville Longbottom, Y1_

Astronomy_ _ _ _4th

Charms _ _ _ _ _ _ 6th

Defence _ _ _ _ _ _5th

Herbology_ _ _ _ _1st

History _ _ _ _ _ _2nd

Potions _ _ _ _ _ _ 30th

Transfiguration _ _8th

Overall _ _ _ _ _ _ 8th

Neville beamed.

"I'm next!" Hermione declared, eagerly passing around her results. Angelica wasn't surprised when she saw them - Hermione was absolutely brilliant.

_Hermione Granger, Y1_

Astronomy_ _ _ _1st

Charms _ _ _ _ _ _ 2nd

Defence _ _ _ _ _ _2nd

Herbology_ _ _ _ _2nd

History _ _ _ _ _ _1st

Potions _ _ _ _ _ _ 1st

Transfiguration_ _ _1st

Overall _ _ _ _ _ _ 1st

Hermione beamed at her friends.

"I nearly can't believe it," she said quietly.

Angelica gave her a strange look. "What?" she asked, "That you're in fisrt place? You're brilliant, Hermione, of course you got it."

The bushy haired Gryffindor shook her head wildly. "No, no, I mena, yes, it was a pleasant surprise, I thought someone who grew up around magic, but that's not what I meant . . . I mean, _we went to Hogwarts_. A school of magic! It's - it's almost unreal, isn't it?"

Chris slung his arm around Hermione's shoulder's. "Yeah, I guess so," he said easily, "But hey, we have the rest of the summer to pretend it never happened."

"You prat!" Hermione shouted, grinning, as she elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oh, my heart!" the overly dramatic twelve year old cried, "It bleeds! Cruelty, your name is Herms."

"Don't call me that!"

"And don't you mean your ribs?"

"Oh, shut it."


	23. Chapter 23

Aunt Petunia was waiting just outside the barrier when Angelica ran through it. The thin, blonde woman looked unhappy as usual, with her mouth pinched strangely, as if someone had glued a rotting fish under her nose. Angelica ducked her head and walked over to her. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her satchel. It was probably a good thing she'd left her hair combs packed away - her relatives would probably think she stole them.

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," she said quietly. The woman sneered.

"Hurry up to the car, your cousin's waiting," she snapped, then turned heel and strode away. Angelica cast a longing glance at the barrier, but followed. They wouldn't let her stow away on the Express, anyway, and if she did it without permission, she'd get caught.

One part of her aunt's sentence finally sunk in, however, and Angelica looked at the woman in surprise. "Where's Uncle Vernon?" she asked.

Petunia sniffed. "Grunnings sent him on a business trip - no more questions." The last part was said very sternly, and Angelica ducked her head and nodded with a murmured, 'Yes, Ma'am.'

Dudley was sitting in the back of the car, nearly filling two seats while he slouched and played some sort of handheld video game. Once her trunk was stowed away in the boot f the car, Angelica took the front seat. Aunt Petunia glared at her when she did it, but she was driving, and wouldn't be throwing sweets. She - probably - wouldn't if she could: it wasn't _normal_, after all, for adults to throw jelly babies at children.

They didn't go to Little Whinging straight away, which surprised Angelica. Apparently Aunt Petunia wanted to give her son a day in London as an early birthday treat - never mind that his birthday wasn't for another week - and had decided to take him, and by extension, Angelica, out for tea. Angelica had lots of fun - her family was actually very tolerable in public, when Uncle Vernon wasn't around. Dudley even asked her if she wanted one of his cupcakes, which he hadn't even had a bite out of yet. After seeing Aunt Petunia nod, Angelica smiled and took it - it was very good, and Angelica marvelled over the dark red colour. Generally she only ever saw vanilla or chocolate cupcakes.

Afterward they spend a few hours at the London Aquarium, but Aunt Petunia finally had to drag them away, and wouldn't say why. Angelica shrugged, trailing behind them and looking around at the tans as they walked by.

The drive home was long, but not because it was boring. It was rather dull, but Angelica was used to that, she could keep herself occupied, or even fall asleep. The problem began when the car passed the Tower of London. Angelica winced when she saw the place; a harsh throbbing began behind her eyes. The girl slid down in her seat.

"What are you doing?" Aunt Petunia snapped. "Sit up straight!"

Angelica winced at her loud voice, but sat up nonetheless. It wouldn't do any good to argue. The headache faded, thankfully, as the Tower disappeared behind them. It had almost faded as they left the city and passed a cemetery, where it flared right up again. Angelica groaned. She'd hoped these headaches would stop after she left Hogwarts and there weren't any ghosts around all summer. Apparently not.

Aunt Petunia shot Angelica suspicious looks the whole way back to Privet Drive. It was drizzling when they pulled in to Number Four, which Angelica was glad for - the cool water dropping on her head made the headache disappear faster. While her aunt and cousin hurried inside, Angelica pulled her and her cousin's trunks from the boot and pulled them inside and up the stairs, locking the front door behind her - it wasn't like her relatives would go anywhere tonight anyway.

Once the trunks had been stowed away in the proper bedroom closets, Angelica hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. Aunt Petunia would likely want her to help with dinner, so it wouldn't be a good idea to dawdle. To Angelica's surprise, however, Aunt Petunia already had dinner out, and wasn't overly upset Angelica hadn't been there to help make the meatloaf - she only said that the eleven year old had to clean up after, and Angelica would have had to do that if she'd helped to make dinner, anyway.

.

The next morning, after Angelica woke up, she hurried outside and down the street, turning onto Nasturtium Boulevard after five minutes of running. Miss Trudoe's house looked as it always did - neat, but with a few of her wilder plants stubbornly overflowing. Angelica grinned when she saw that Miss Trudoe's garden angelica was already dotted in pale yellow buds, and smelled like summer. "Hello there, little me," she said, waving at the plant from the front step.

The girl turned back to the door and knocked "Miss Trudoe!" she called, "It's me, Angelica! I'm back for the summer holidays!"

For a few minutes, there was a very quiet pause where only a few birds could be heard twittering, before the door swung open and a very rumpled Miss Trudoe appeared.

"Huh?" she asked. Then she caught sight of who it was on her front step and shook her head. "Angie!" she said, grinning. "When did you get back from school?"

Angelica took that as an invitation to hug the woman. "Last night," she said from Prue's waist. "We got home late because Aunt Petunia took Dudley and me to the aquarium."

If Prue was surprised that Petunia Dursley had voluntarily taken her niece to the aquarium, she didn't show it. Instead, she smiled and said, "That's great, kiddo. Here, let me make you some cocoa." She nodded the girl inside, and Angelica happily took the silent invitation and bounded into the foyer with a grin. Prue closed the door with a wave of her hand and ushered the little girl into the kitchen.

"How was school?" she asked. "Did you get your results back yet? Going to do anything with your friends this summer?"

Angelica smiled from her seat at the kitchen table. Things like this were why she always pretended Miss Trudoe was her mum when she was younger. Why she still liked to sometimes. She was the closest thing Angelica had to one. "It was brilliant," she said cheerfully. "I made third in my class, and Hermione's first, just like we told her, even though she was practically ripping her hair out, se was so nervous."

Prue smiled and set down Angie's cup of cocoa. "Oh?" she said, sitting down. "I'm so proud of you! Congratulations - did Chris and Neville tell you their results?"

The little girl nodded. "Yup! Chris is fourth in the class, and Neville is eighth. His Gran'll be pleased. She thinks he's a near squib," she said casually. Prue blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Angelica looked up from her marshmallows - she was trying to arrange them into a smiley face. "What?"

The older witch looked outraged. "What do you mean she thinks he's a failure? Did she tell him that?"

Angelica nodded slowly. "Well, yeah, of course she did. Most of his family has. His mum and dad aren't with him, so he lives with his relatives, like me."

Prue slumped back in her chair, shocked, and barely heard Angelica remark casually about Neville nearly drowning, and having his uncle drop him from a third storey window. She mostly was struck by how Angelica thought that sort of thing was _okay._ She knew that the kid's life at the Dursley's wasn't ideal - she'd reported Vernon to child services more than once, though nothing ever seemed to be done about the obvious neglect - but she thought that she'd impressed on Angelica that that sort of thing _wasn't normal_ or _right_.

She had, hadn't she?

The Whitelighter leaned forward and clutched her coffee mug tightly. "Angelica," she said seriously, "What do you think of Neville's family? Should they be able to treat him like that?"

Angelica bit her lip and gave a little shrug. "Well, I suppose so, yeah. I mean, it's not like they're his parents or anything. They could have just left him on the street, shouldn't they? If they were his parents they'd have to be nice to him, but they're not, so . . . "

Prue stared. After a long while she slowly shook her head. "No," she told the girl seriously. "No one should treat a child like that, parents or not, okay?"

Eyes wide, Angelica nodded. "Al-alright . . . "

Now, to find out if wizards had child services like the rest of the world.

.

That afternoon found Prue driving Angelica to 1315 Montgomery Lane, Staines, to speak to one Mrs. Andromeda Tonks and sign Angelica up for her wizarding culture classes. After all, Prue thought, if the woman taught people about the culture, she probably knew what to do about children with apparently insane family members.

The Tonks family house was a nice place, set well away from the street, with an obvious Tudor influence, and was very obviously large enough to hold classes in. Andromeda Tonks was a tall, patrician looking woman, with light brown hair and twinkling eyes. Her husband Ted was the same height as her, with a podgy stomach, dark blue eyes and light blond hair.

Angelica wondered how in the world they had produced the short, red haired seventh year Angelica had seen knocking suits of armour over at school.

Andromeda smiled warmly at the two and welcomed them inside. "Hello," she said pleasantly. "Are you here about the summer classes?"

Prue nodded. "Yes, Angie was hoping to sign herself and a friend up for them. Also, can I ask you a few questions? "

The tall witch nodded, looking interested and a little confused all at once, which confused Angelica, because she didn't know how anybody could look like that - if she tried it, she thought, she'd look constipated and Chris would slip Ex-Lax into her dessert.

Andromeda led the two of them into the kitchen and sat them down at the table. Angelica noticed a cauldron cooking in a normal pot on the stove. Andromeda followed her gaze and smiled. "I've never been much for conventions," she explained, "and Pepper-Up Potion comes out much better without any pewter rubbing off on it. Now, I didn't catch your names, what were they, again?"

Prue stuck out a hand. "Prue Trudoe, and this is Angelica Potter."

Andromeda blinked. Then, instead of asking if Prue was sure, like Angie expected, she just looked between them and asked, "Are you her aunt? I remember hearing Miss Potter had gone to live with Muggle relatives earlier this year, but I thought that meant Petunia - I didn't realise Lily had another sister."

Angelica sat up straighter in her chair, even as Prue corrected her, saying she was just an old teacher of Angelica's that watched her most days she was at home.

"My apologies," Andromeda said, "I shouldn't have assumed. Now, you wanted to enrol Miss Potter in culture classes, do you have her guardian's permission?"

"I asked my Aunt last night," Angelica piped up. "She said so long as I'm put of her hair and come back in time for dinner it's fine."

Andromeda frowned at that, but nodded. "And this other student you mentioned?"

"My friend Chris," the girl said. "He lives in the States, but he can come for classes. He asked him Mum before school ended and she said yes." Chris hadn't. he'd orbed into her room at practically midnight, but Mrs. Tonks didn't need to know that.

Andromeda nodded. "I'll need written proof from both your guardians, but I have no problem with any of this. I'll put you down on the rolls, just bring in the fifty pounds the day classes start. July first, remember that."

Angelica nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Prue spoke up then. "Also, I was wondering if the wizarding world had anything like child services?"

That apparently took the other witch by surprise. "Why, no, why do you ask?"

Prue nodded toward Angelica. "A friend of hers' uncle threatened his life several times before he got his Hogwarts letter to try and force magic from him. DO you mean that nothing can be done about it?"

Andromeda sighed. "No, unfortunately. I suspect I know the boy in question, Neville Longbottom I assume? His Uncle Algernon is well-known as a Squib hater, and there have been rumours going around for years that he's been trying to force magic out of his grandnephew. Unfortunately, as Mister Longbottom's parents are alive, though unable to care for him, the Ministry can't do anything for him. They only get involved with orphaned Muggleborns, even then just sending them home with a volunteer family." Andromeda stood and held her hand out to Prue. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more help, but it's nearly three, and my daughter should be home soon. It's best to bottle that potion before she knocks it over. I hope you have a good day, and that I'll see you on the first."

Prue took her hand and shook it. "Not a problem at all, thank you. Come on, Angie."

Angelica followed without a fuss. It had been a long day, and she wanted to try and convince Miss Trudoe to stop at that Italian bakery they'd passed earlier before it was time to go home.


	24. Chapter 24

The next morning Angelica woke up before dawn to the tapping of a plain brown owl tapping on her window. She jumped out of bed to let the bird in – Aunt Petunia had been pleasant so far this summer, and she didn't want to risk that changing. The owl hopped inside and fluffed its feathers. Angelica stifled a laugh – owls were such funny birds. She untied the letter and held out the half-filled glass of water she kept on her bedside table. The owl hooted happily and began to drink while Angelica unrolled the letter and read it – Hermione had a lot of news, if the length of the roll of parchment was anything to go by.

_Dear Angelica,_

_How are you? I know that's silly to ask, since it's only been a day or so, but I have to ask. Are your relatives being nice? I know you said they weren't particularly pleasant. Mum and Dad are busy, and I'm having so much fun exploring the city – La Rue de Magie is beautiful, and there's so much history! Neville would love the public gardens, they're beautiful. I never knew there could be so many magical plants._

_Oh, before I forget – Mrs. Tonks said yes! I showed Mum the consent form she sent me at breakfast, and now I'll be able to take lessons by owl until we get back home._

_Not much else is going on now, besides trying to convince Mum and Dad that buying an owl is a good 'investment.' I was ever so surprised when Chris managed to orb me a letter – has he sent you one?_

_I miss you,_

_Hermione_

Angelica frowned when she finished. She was glad that her friend was having fun, of course, and that she'd be joining her and Chris in the culture classes, but she had to wonder – why hadn't Chris sent her a letter, too? The dark haired girl shook her head. That was stupid; Chris would send her a letter when he had something to say, there wasn't any reason to get upset. She set the letter on her rickety desk – she'd have to see about fixing that leg, why Dudley had decided cutting the bottom wheel off the front was a good idea, she'd never know.

The digital alarm clock proudly declared in bright red numbers that it was almost six o'clock. Figuring she may as well get an early start on the day, Angelica grabbed a dress and some shorts from her open wardrobe and headed across the hall to the bathroom for a shower.

After breakfast an hour later, Angelica slung her satchel over her shoulder and walked down the streets to Miss Trudoe's house. It was a twenty minute walk, so the music teacher should be awake by that time. And if she wasn't . . . well, Angelica had discovered that so long as she ducked Prue's reaction to yelling 'Demon!' while she was asleep was _really_ funny.

Unfortunately for Angelica's sense of humour, Prue was already awake and eating toast on the front porch. She smiled and waved Angelica over when she saw the girl. Angelica waved back and ran across the front lawn to give the woman a hug. "Hello, Prue! Guess what? Hermione's taking the classes, too!"

Prue's smile widened. "That's great! I'm glad – is Chris taking them, too? Or has his mom not signed the consent form yet?"

Angelica shrugged. "He hasn't said anything to me. He sent Hermione a letter, though. I could ask her."

The Halliwell frowned. Angelica seemed unhappy, probably about Chris not talking to her yet. "Well," she said, hoping to distract the girl, "guess what I was invited to for Midsummer?"

"What?" Angelica asked, perking up. Prue smiled – it had worked.

"There's a big festival being held for the solstice, it'll be all day, there's a bonfire that night, camping, food. There should be a few vendors walking around, too. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

Shock did not accurately descried the look on Angelica Potter's face at that moment. It was shocked, mixed in with glee, spun together with excitement, wrapped in worry, with a shiny bow of wonder to top it all off. She jumped in the air with a squeal, and suddenly Prue found herself holding the eleven year old in her arms, her paper plate and toast knocked to the ground. She held the girl stiffly for a moment, before a grin worked its way onto her face, and she hugged Angelica closer.

"I'd love to mum," Angelica whispered, so quietly Prue was sure she hadn't been supposed to hear it. Her grin widened, and she hugged Angelica closer.

She didn't like being called Ma'am. She found that she really, really loved being called 'Mum' by Angelica, though.

.

It didn't take much convincing to get Petunia Dursley to send her niece away for a few days to go to the festival. She'd do anything to get 'that terrible heathen devil worshipper' out of her house. Prue did her best not to be offended. She didn't quite manage it, but she was confident that her anger at the woman didn't show on her face. As it was, Angelica was told to get out of the house and not to come back until after Dudley's birthday was over.

Prue frowned at that. Petunia Dursley didn't deserve a niece as wonderful as Angelica, and her words just cemented that further in Prue's mind. She'd hoped they'd get better since Angie was only around for the summer, but maybe she should call Social Services again? Maybe this time they'd actually show up and things wouldn't be swept under the rug. She didn't get a chance to say anything to the blonde, however, because at that point Angelica was running down the stairs with a backpack covered in pockets slung over her shoulder. Prue recognized it as one Dudley had bought at the zoo a few years previous, ripped, and 'generously' given to his cousin. She hadn't realized Angie still had it.

The two witches gave insincere good byes to Angelica Aunt, and soon they were off for the festival. The drive took a few hours, but neither one minded. The radio was on, and Angelica always loved a game of 'I Spy.' Prue didn't mind playing it with her – the girl always found the oddest things to spy, and it was fun trying to figure out what they were. They stopped a few times to get gas and go to the bathroom, and by evening, hand painted signs directing them to the festival were popping up ever mile or so. They finally turned on to a gravel road and parked by a tall oak tree.

RV's and tents were scattered in the lightly wooded area, and Angelica was ecstatic to see people her age running around campsites. White painted wooden signs shouted in bright red letters the direction toward the actual festival. Both witches wanted to walk around a while, but it was getting dark, and they needed to eat first. Angelica ran off to look for firewood while Prue pulled up grass to prevent a forest fire.

"Here woody, woody, wood . . ." the girl murmured looking around. Sticks and leaves littered the ground, but she was _hoping_ for a few larger pieces of wood, too. So engrossed was she in her stick gathering that she didn't even notice another person nearby until she literally walked into them.

"Oof!"

"Ouch!"

"Hey, get off!"

"Ow, that's my _hair!_"

There was much scrabbling as the two girls tried to disentangle themselves, and eventually they managed it. Angelica shook her head and felt around for her flashlight. A stick cracked, and suddenly Angelica found her flashlight being shone on her face. She squinted and tried to see the girl she'd knocked herself into. She couldn't manage it. Slowly, the girl stood up. "Sorry about that," she said sheepishly, tugging the end of her braid. "I didn't mean to knock you over. Can I have my flashlight, please?"

The still faceless girl handed the flashlight over without a sound, and Angelica turned it to her. What she saw . . . very much surprised her.

"Lavender?" she asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

The fair haired Gryffindor hadn't interacted much with Angelica over the school year, but the Potter girl knew that Lavender was a pureblood – what was she doing at a Muggle event? For her part, Lavender looked surprised to see Angelica, too. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

Angelica frowned. "I'm here for the festival, like you. I didn't know you celebrated Midsummer."

Lavender crossed her arms. "You were supposed to?"

"No, no – I'm just surprised, that's all," Angelica hastily explained. "But aren't you a pureblood?"

Lavender nodded slowly, before her face lit up in understanding. "Oh!" she said, clapping her hands together. "You thought I'd be at a wizarding festival. No – my stepfather's a Muggleborn, and one of the volunteer's helping run this."

"Wizards celebrate Midsummer?" Angelica asked, feeling very, very stupid. Lavender nodded again and looked confused.

"Some of us do, yes. Some aren't religious, some follow that Muggle thing – the one with the rabbit that lays eggs after the spring equinox, what was it called again?"

"Christianity," Angelica answered absently. Her mind was whirling. She hadn't realized wizards were pagan for the most part like Lavender was suggesting. After all, at school they had _Easter_ break, and the _Christmas_ holidays. Figuring she may as well ask, she explained this to the Gryffindor girl.

Lavender waved her confusion away with a laugh. "Well, some are, of course, that's their thing, but a lot of the older families still follow the paths they did before coming to Britain." She titled her pale blonde head to the side curiously. "Actually, if it gets out that you do, too, you're standing will probably go up a lot. I know a few of my cousins' parents will consider you more one of us, definitely."

Angelica was really, really confused now. "Pardon?" she asked. "Wicca's only been around since, what, the fifties?"

"You aren't a Christian, so you're less like a Muggleborn," Lavender said with a shrug. "I don't see why it's so important, but some of the more prominent families are hung up on it a lot." She shrugged and looked around. "_Accio firewood,_" she whispered, then ducked. Angelica did not, and suddenly found herself with an armful of sticks and branches as she fell to the ground. Lavender burst out laughing. "You were supposed to _catch_ them!" she giggled. "I thought I'd help since it's my fault you dropped all of yours."

Angelica smiled. "Thanks," she said. She stood and made to walk away, but stopped at the last second. "How are you able to do that, by the way? I thought we couldn't do magic out of school, everyone was complaining about it on the train."

A crafty look grew on Lavender's face and she leaned in and whispered, "The Trace is on the little slips of parchment they give you saying not to cast any spells over the summer. My brother figured out that if you don't grab one, the trace doesn't renew itself and you can use magic all you like!" She giggle and pulled away. "G'bye!" she said happily, waving her fingers and running off – back to her tent, Angelica supposed.

Huh. Angelica was quiet as she walked back to the car, where Prue already had their sleeping bags rolled out and a card table set up with crisps and a package of sausages. She had a lot to think about.

.

**AN/AR: Tah-dahhhh! Sorry I haven't updated much – I got sick, and forgot, and was beta'ing . . . . I was just all over the place this week, my bad. Forgive me?**

**Just to clarify – I've got nothing against any religious group whatsoever, okay? I got the idea for 'wizards and witches aren't mostly Christian' from the scads of fics circulating where wizards from old pureblood families celebrate wiccan holidays. Figured I'd add my own bit into it. I'm looking into a bunch of reconstructionist paths like Asatru, Hellenism, Druidry and Kemeticism. It's not really going to be a BUG thing, just a 'hey, look, wizards are separated from Muggles so their faiths aren't really in line with most of the Muggle world, whee.' If you're unhappy . . . ignore this chapter, I guess. : ) Hope you liked it,**

**Merc.**


	25. Chapter 25

_Angelica was quiet as she walked back to the car, where Prue already had their sleeping bags rolled out and a card table set up with crisps and a package of sausages. She had a lot to think about._

.

The next day, Angelica woke up to find that at least half the people there were already up early, including the other children. With a grin, she wriggled from under he blanket she'd laid over her sleeping bag - both she and Prue had decided it was too hot the night before, and had been very happy to realise that light blankets had, indeed, been packed to sleep under - and crawled over to where Prue was gently snoring by the remains of the fire. "Prue!" she said quietly, shaking the woman's shoulder. "Prue, wake up! Miss Trudoe, wake up!"

Bupkis.

Angelica looked around for a few seconds before her eyes lit on the bottle of water she'd left by the fire after supper the night before. She leaned over and grabbed it. "Miss Trudoe," she wheedled, "I'll pour this on you if you don't wake up." When Prue didn't so much as grumble in her sleep, Angelica shrugged, uncapped the bottle, and poured it on the older witch's head.

It was probably a good thing that Prue's sleeping bag was waterproof, otherwise the green-eyed woman would have been much angrier. As it was, Angelica got to dig through the boot to find twine to make a small clothes' line to hang the blanket up on. By the time that was finished and she walked around the other side of the car to get some food, a small cluster of people were gathered on the ground, chattering and eating breakfast. Prue looked up from a conversation with a dimpled strawberry blonde with blue streaks in her hair when Angelica sat down.

"Hey, kiddo," she grinned. "These are the friends I was telling you about that invited us. Everyone, this is Angelica, an old student of mine."

There were murmured hellos, with a few of the more . . . exuberant women cooing over Angelica or pinching her cheeks, and soon everyone was back to eating and talking. Angelica was happy to just sit back and listen to the conversations going on around her, answering a question or two when one of the young women wanted to ask her something. This was nice, and definitely fit in to a part of why she didn't think she'd ever want to totally abandon the Muggle world, like she'd noticed some of her classmates were ready to. No talk of Houses, or gawking at her scar aside from the rare maternal 'oh you poor child, what happened?' and just the community of it.

A prime example - she'd never met any one of these women before, but they were all perfectly happy to talk to her, or ask if she'd had enough to eat, any of that. Maybe she was wrong, and the wizarding world had that too. As it was, the most united she'd seen her classmates was when Gryffindor faced Slytherin in Quidditch.

"Angelica!"

Angelica's eyes snapped open with a jerk, and suddenly the girl found herself standing up, her paper plate and half eaten sausage now covered in dirt. Drat.

Lavender stood in front of her, a grin on her face, and she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I've found you!" she exclaimed happily. "Come on, a few of us are going down to the stream to make flower wreaths!" She grabbed Angelica's wrist and began to pull. Angelica pulled away. She did not like people pulling on her.

"One second," she said, making up an excuse. "I have to ask Miss Trudoe first." Prue, who had obviously noticed Lavender's arrival, looked up.

"Who's this?" she asked. Angelica motioned for Lavender to walk over to Prue and introduced her. "Prue, this is Lavender, she goes to my school. Lavender, this is Miss Trudoe, an old teacher of mine."

Lavender smiled brightly. "Hello, Miss Trudoe!" she grinned. "Can Angelica come make wreathes with us, please?" The blonde girl batted her large brown eyes innocently, making Prue raise an eyebrow.

"Who's going to be there?" she asked.

"Oh, just a few of our year mates and their siblings and cousins," Lavender said casually. "Hannah Abbott is there with her little sister Isabel and her older brother Alexander. Blaise Zabini's there since his mother and stepfather are still sleeping, and so is my older cousin, Nerys Orpington and her friend Katherine MacDougal - Angelica knows her, she's a third year Ravenclaw, Morag's older sister. Morag's feeling ill, though, and had to stay home, she hasn't been well all summer."

Prue looked to Angelica, silently asking if the girl knew and was okay with being around the children Lavender named. Hiding the vindictive pleasure she felt knowing her karma spell on Morag had worked, Angelica nodded. Hannah Abbott she knew from the library - a quiet blonde who spent most of her time with Susan Bones. Blaise Zabini was a good-looking boy in Slytherin who, as far as Angelica knew, never really spoke to . . . well, anyone. Prue waved the two girls off with a small smile and a 'have fun' sent after them.

Before Angelica could even think to ask any questions - namely what not one, or two, but more than _three_ wizarding families were doing at a small gathering of maybe a hundred people, instead of at one of the huge ones held at places like Stonehenge - Lavender had already managed to drag her through the lightly wooded area, across the field where the bonfire would be that night, and back into the trees, where maybe a dozen children were laughing and making flower circlets, in the girls' case, and the boys made wreaths of flowers and oak leaves to wear by the stream, where tall grass grew in bunches and large rocks were easily seen..

Judging by the printed t-shirts and obviously much worn jeans, at least half of them didn't live in the wizarding world. Angelica looked to Lavender nervously - she'd never been much good with people - and was relieved to see the girl standing on a large rock and clearing her throat loudly. "I brought a friend!" she yelled, crossing her arms when no one had yet looked up. They did then, and she smiled. "Everyone, this is Angelica Potter, she goes to school in the same year as Blaise and me."

" 'Blaise and _I,_' " a rather pretty girl with long, dark brown hair said. Angelica watched in fascination as her fingers quickly braided strands of flowers together, and then braided the braids with one another. Lavender, on the other hand, paid that no mind ad rolled her eyes.

"You're not in our year, Katherine," she said, grinning when the others laughed. Katherine's cheeks pinked a little, but she merely snorted and waved Lavender off. The Gryffindor girl huffed and pulled Angelica over to where Blaise Zabini was sitting next to Hannah Abbott. He was holding the ends of her first flower together while she weaved more into it, to Angelica's surprise. Here she'd been thinking that Chris was the only nice boy in Slytherin.

Which, now that she thought about it, was really very mean of her. Oops?

"Hello," Hannah murmured quietly, looking up from her circlet. Angelica noticed the girl's cheeks pink when she smiled at her. "I'm Hannah, and this is Blaise. It's nice to officially meet you." Hannah smiled brightly, and Angelica immediately took a liking to the girl: she seemed the sort that was always there with an ear to listen and a mint to make you go away. She smiled back.

Blaise didn't say a word, only nodded easily and plucked tall strands of grass from where they were growing up around the rock he sat on. It was a few minutes before conversation started up again - even with the non wizards, apparently newcomers must be watched - and by that time Angelica had sat herself comfortably between Lavender and Hannah, leaning against the long rock they were both using as a bench and braiding pieces of grass she'd ripped in half longwise to make them thin together.

"So what are all of you doing here?" she asked the other wizard children quietly, looking up. Blaise was the only one whose face she could see, as Lavender and Hannah were both sitting above her and the other girls were . . . Somewhere else, as was Alexander Abbott. At any rate, Blaise merely shrugged and spoke equally quietly.

"Why shouldn't we be?" he asked. "We all live close here, and it's nice to be able to celebrate with friends and family without having to worry about some reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ showing up with a camera to dig up dirt on everyone. Can you say differently for yourself?"

Angelica raised an eyebrow, and her mouth twitched. "Yes, actually. I live as a Muggle during the hols. I'd love to see how the wizarding world celebrate." At Blaise's unimpressed look, she added, "But I see your point. And what's wrong with the _Prophet?_ Most of the student get it, so it can't be that bad, can it?"

Blaise outright snorted, making several others look over, at which point Hannah's little sister decided that Angelica was neglecting her circlet and slid off the bench rock, where she had, it seemed, been sitting.

"You need more flowers!" she declared loudly, inspecting Angelica's long braid of grass. "And it has to be woven, not braided."

Hannah tugged on the hem of her younger sister's dress. "Isabel," she said calmly, "Be nice. Angelica can make her circlet however she likes."

The dark haired Abbot girl pouted. "_No,_" she said stubbornly, and stalked away, likely, Angelica guessed, to pick flowers. She hid a smile by a ducking her head down so her hair hid her face and finished the thin braid. She'd weave it into a 'proper' circlet when it was done, and then she'd loop in the flowers. There were some pretty yellow ones by the water, maybe they'd look nice?

The day passed quickly, with all the children running through the trees and splashing in the water. The older ones left sometime around noon. Nerys muttered about clothes and food for around the bonfire when asked. Fortunately, to the younger set's minds, this didn't really change anything, and around four o'clock Angelica found herself being dragged into the stream by one of the Muggle girls, Juliette, when she and Lavender both agreed that they had to all take a bath in it. There was much laughing and splashing, and Angelica happily dunked Isabel under the water when the younger witch tickled her. It was all very fun, and Juliette said that bathing in streams and springs and such on Midsummer's Eve brought healing and protection.

All in all, it was fun. Right up until the boys stole their clothes. The five or so preteen girls were very uncomfortable, and likely would have waited in the bushes until one of their female relatives found them, had Samantha a boyish girl with chopped off brown hair, not gone running with her four little sisters after the boys. That lead to the rest of the girls following her, and in short order Juliette's twin brother Ethan found himself tied up with Lavender's bright pink tights and a plum shoved in his mouth.

As she walked back to Prue's car, seeing the bonfire being built up and smelling food cook, and with her finished circlet perched on her head, Angelica decided that yes, it had been a very good day. It made the coming evening that much better.


	26. Chapter 26

Angelica finally, _finally_ got a letter from Chris. Prue handed it to her when she approached the car. "Your friend has good timing," she said, handing over the plain white envelope marked 'Angie' in spidery scrawl Angelica immediately recognized as Chris'. "This showed up just after a everyone left and I was getting some water from the cooler."

Angelica squealed and hugged her mentor. "Thank you!" she squeaked, and then ran into the car, shut the door, and locked it. She pulled a flashlight from the glove compartment and held it under her chin while she read the letter.

_Dear Angie,_

_Adults don't know much about the world, do they? I was telling my Mom at dinner about Slytherin – she didn't believe that we're seen as evil by most of the school, and told me not to talk about my school until I'm 'willing to be honest'. Strange, right?_

_Oh, Wyatt got his butt kicked. By our little sister – I told you about Mel, didn't I? He was using her full name to annoy her, and she . . . kind of orbed him to the Mojave Desert. Across the state. It took Dad forever to find him, and Mel and me stayed up 'in her room' for the rest of the night. Her room has the stairs to the attic – it used to be Grams' sewing room. So we spent the night in there, going through old boxes and thumbing over the Book. Voldemort was in there, by the way. From the handwriting, I think Grams must have come across him at some point, or heard about him from a friend. I copied the page onto some printer paper and I'll send it to you with this, okay?_

_Here's something funny – apparently my mom, dad, and aunts all know VERY well how to fix a grandfather clock. Wyatt's been saying for years there must be a grandfather clock repair shop around here somewhere – nope. Every other time a demon shows up, the clock in the hall gets broken. After the first year my mom and her sisters came into their powers, they finally figured out how to fix the thing themselves._

_It's been a tradition for as long as we've had the clock – since Grams was a little girl. There are tons of a box in one corner of the attic that are filled with repairs for the old clock, and books on how to do it, too, both family-written and store bought. My Great Gramps Allen was really good at fixing it. So's Dad, but he was a handyman when he and mom met, so that's a no brainer. He's better with healing. He was a medic or something in World War Two, that's how he became a whitelighter._

_I'm looking forward to Midsummer. Mom and Dad are taking Wyatt to some big festival upstate, and Mel doesn't want to go, so we're staying with Aunt Paige and celebrating with her and her circle group. I finally found out why Mom doesn't want us going to those – they celebrate sky clad._

_My Mom's weird. It's not like we're walking around like that in Chinatown. My Aunt Phoebe's done worse – she was Lady Godiva. They still refer to her as Godiva once in a while at her work. She made her point though. _

_Anyway, Mom's telling me to hurry up and bring my duffle bag downstairs to go to Aunt Paige's, so I'll finish this up. Hope you're okay. Are you with your relatives? How's your holiday? I included the consent form you sent me, too._

_- Chris._

_Oh – sorry about not writing to you before. I couldn't think of anything to say._

_- Chris._

Angelica snorted. Chris signed off letters just like Prue. He even had to sign off the post script. She smiled at the paper. She had to ask about a few of the stories he mentioned – his family sounded funny. Smiling, she set the letter on the passenger seat and pulled out the other two papers in the envelope. One was on notebook paper, and one was the consent form. She folded that up and set it with the letter, then settled back to look at the entry on Voldemort.

VOLDEMORT

An English warlock that gained power in  
>part of the magical community there, he<br>rose to power in the 1970s and was well  
>known for his torture methods, used on<br>follower and foe alike. Born named Tom  
>Riddle, he killed hundreds in the name of<br>'purity'. He sought to end the lives of all  
>people without magic. He was known for<br>seeking immortality. He has the ability to  
>speak to snakes and is very powerful. Not<br>to be faced alone.

At the bottom was a rough sketch of a snake, wrapping around the feet of a robed man with red eyes. Angelica vaguely thought the warlock would be handsome if his skin weren't so waxy and he didn't look ill. As it was, it was a frightening sort of look, beautiful and terrible at the same time. Angelica gave a small shudder. She folded the paper and put it and the others back in the envelope. She'd show the page on Voldemort to Prue in the morning. For now, she wanted to change out of her clothes and into something clean – grass and dirt were all over her things at the moment, and it was itchy.

A half an hour later, Angelica was wearing a pale green dress her Aunt had bought her at a charity shop a few years before. She'd been swimming in it then, and had had to wear a piece of kitchen twine wrapped around her waist so it didn't flap around everywhere. Now, however, it was only a little loose, and Angelica happily bounded on the balls of her feet, waiting for Prue to come with her to the bonfire. The older witch finally was ready to go a moment later, and they were off, with Angelica running ahead and then back to Prue's side when she went to fast.

Angelica thought the field was the prettiest thing she'd ever seen, even better than the sight of Hogwarts that first night before the Welcoming Feast. Trees lined the place in a sort of half oval, and then it opened up to see field and fields, as far as the eye could see. A large bonfire was crackling in the centre, and the sun was setting, casting the light a deep golden colour. People milled around, laughing and talking, and the fireflies were just beginning to come out, flickering as they moved lazily above and around everyone. The moon could just barely be seen above the trees, and Angelica smiled when she felt the magic humming all around her. She loved this.

Without another thought, Angelica hugged Prue and dashed off. She came across a group of people dancing, and joined in. It was so much _fun_. It was as if she were in a dream. A wonderful, heady, fantastic dream. After some time, she found herself dancing alone, away from the others, and skipped away. There were flowers growing, bright yellow and red ones. Prue would love them. So Angelica bent down, and began to pick them. Soon, she found herself bumping into a girl her age, maybe a little younger. She had freckle, pale brown braids, and was missing her top left front tooth.

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you; did you drop your flowers?"

Angelica shook her head, grinning. "Not one," she said happily. "I wasn't looking around me. What were you doing when I knocked into you?"

The other girl lit up. "Some of us are going to look for royal fern – my Mum says if you pick it on Midsummer's Eve, it will make you lucky and wise and will protect you." She paused for a moment before asking hesitantly, "Do you want to come?"

"I'd love to!" Angelic smiled. "I'm Angelica."

The girl hugged her. "I'm Maria," she said as she pulled back. She grabbed the wrist of Angelica's non flower holding hand. "Come on, this way!"

They two girls soon met up with three or four other children, and began searching for the plant. 'Here ferney, ferney, ferney . . . ' was whispered under many breaths as they knelt close to the ground to see batter. It was Maria who found the plant first. "Look here!" she shouted. "I've found some! There's loads!"

In an instant, the half dozen children other were grouped by Maria's side, and they got on their hands and knees to pick the plant. Clutching their treasures protectively, they carefully made their way back to the field, following a tall, good looking blond boy named Daniel, who lived nearby and knew the area well.

Hannah found Angelica not long after. She grinned and grabbed the girl's arm. "Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed. Her cheeks were a shocking pink, and her eyes were very bright. Angelica thought she must look much the same. "Come with me, the herbs are in the fire, and the boys are already jumping it – I saw my brother with Nerys, too. I didn't even know they were together, isn't it sweet? Come on!"

Angelica could only follow. Hannah Abbott was very much a force to be reckoned with when she was excited. She did manage to carefully put her flowers in one dress pocket and the Royal Fern in another before jumping, thankfully. She, Hannah, Isabel, Lavender, Samantha and Juliette all held hands, and ran toward the fire, jumping it. It was like flying, Angelica thought with a grin, only she got to share it.

"Again!" she declared. "Let's jump again!"

And so they did, the rest of the night.

When it was finally time to go to bed that night, Angelic was more than happy to. She had more than filled herself with grilled vegetables and candied ginger, and her heart was pounding from all the jumping and dancing she'd done. She'd grounded herself after the ritual, but it hadn't helped very much. Though, that might just be because she rarely bothered with it . . . She might be out of practice. Angelica made a halfhearted mental note not to let on to Prue about that. She didn't mind it really. She felt full of light, sunshine. As she slid into the warm yellow interior of her sleeping bag, Angelica felt a content little smile make its home on her face.

Best. Midsummer. Ever.

.

**AN/AR: Well, that concludes Midsummer. Did I draw it out too much? Tell me if I did, and if anything needs explaining. I'm trying to do that more in-chapter, but if I messed up somewhere and you're a little bit lost, please, tell me!**

**In other news – I'm auditioning for the school musical Wednesday! Wish me luck! We're doing 'Little Shop of Horrors.' I'm hoping to be one of the three singer girls, but I'm happy with anything I get. : ) I love to act.**

**- Merc.**


	27. Chapter 27

Midsummer's Day came very early. Angelica woke to Prue pouring water on her, making the girl squawk and jump up, very quickly wide awake. Prue sniggered behind her hand, and Angelica's unhappy grumblings fell on deaf ears and the woman grabbed some granola bars from the boot of the car and handed her one, saying to hurry up, the sun would rise soon, and didn't she want to see it?

Quotes be damned, turnabout was _not_ fair play, Angelica thought with a pout. Still, she found herself following after Prue tiredly, still in her night dress, as she walked through the trees and into the field. The bonfire had long since gone cold, and everything was still half dark. Other people were trickling on to the field as well. Angelica rubbed her eyes. They were slightly sore. She'd need to take a nap, even if it was babyish. It's not like anyone would _know_ . . . She'd put a book in her lap and face away from Miss Trudoe in the car. Angelica smiled to herself, and realized that she'd closed her eyes. Unhappily, she opened them.

She blinked.

The sunrise was beautiful; framed by the trees, the grass turned a burnt orange and the sky lit up pale yellow and red, fading into the twilight sky. The clouds lit up like gold, and Angelica felt her breath catch in her throat. It was like something out of a fairy tale. The fifty-odd people there all seemed to hold their breath for a moment, and for a minute, everything was . . . perfect.

.

Around noon later that day, Angelica found herself being forcibly woken from her nap when Prue stopped the car. She moaned under her breath and blinked around blearily. They were at a petrol station, and Prue was getting out of the car to get gas. Angelica closed her eyes again to sleep. It was too bright out . . .

Unfortunately, Prue did not seem to agree that this was the time for her young charge to sleep, and a few minutes later Angelica opened her eyes when the woman began tapping on her window. She glowered. Prue began knocking. With a long suffering sigh, Angelica got out of the car and scowled.

"Come on, kiddo," Prue said, "You need to eat, and then we should have about an hour until we reach Little Whinging. Come on."

And so Angelica trudged into the convenience store. "Get something to eat while I pay for the gas," Prue said. Angelica blinked at her. Why not just call it petrol? It wasn't like it was _actual_ gas, like oxygen or carbon dioxide. Americans were odd. Even so, Prue wouldn't buy the excuse of 'but you're paying for _petrol_, not gas,' and in all honesty Angelica really didn't want to stand around waiting for the line to move, so walked around the shelves of merchandise and to the end of the hallway holding the doors to the storage room, an exit, and the two bathrooms. Angelica had just set her hand on the doorknob to go inside when she saw a bright blue-white light from the corner of her eye. Spinning around, she raised her arms defensively . . .

. . . to see her best friend standing in front of her. "Chris!" she half whispered, half shouted. "What are you doing here? Actually, how did you even know I _was _here?"

Chris blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. "I wanted to wish you a happy Midsummer," he said casually. "I just finished washing the dinner dishes with Kat, so Aunt Paige said I could."

"She let you . . . orb across the ocean?" Angelica asked in surprise. Chris nodded. "Wow, Chris, just wow."

The boy shrugged. "She trusts me, what can I say? Anyway . . . " Chris looked around and noticed the bathroom sign. "Uh, did I catch you at a bad time?"

Angelica laughed at that. "No, no, it's alright. Miss Trudoe and I are just stopping for petrol before we get back to Little Whinging. She told be to use the loo while she was in line to pay for it. How've you been? Did you have a good holiday?"

Chris nodded, grinning. "Yep. There was a separate ritual for the kids, since most of the people Aunt Paige circles with are parents, and Mr. Ryan's daughter Amanda led it. She's eighteen and the eldest, ergo, she lead us."

"I'm glad you had fun," Angelica smiled. "Oh! That reminds me – there were a few vendors at the festival Prue and I went to, come look, I got you something."

Chris looked confused, but followed Angelica out the exit door at the end of the hall and to Prue's Volkswagen. Angelica hadn't locked her door when she and Prue went inside, so it was open, and Angelica reached into the back seat and pulled out the paper bag holding Chris' present. She held it out to him saying, "I know Midsummer's not gift-givey, but I didn't think I'd get to give it to you until July anyway, so just take it as a random gift from a friend?" She winced when her babbling turned into a question. Chris, however, just lit up and took the bag from her, pulling out his present.

He stared at it in confusion for a moment, and Angelica bit her lip worriedly. "What is it?" Chris asked.

The boy was blunt as ever. Well, blunt as he ever was with her, anyway. Angelica smiled weakly and explained. "Well, I noticed when we fell asleep on the grounds when you forgot the password to your common room that your dream journal was almost all the way filled, so I got you a new one. When I saw it, it reminded me of you." She bit her lip as Chris' eyes widened with surprise and he turned the green covered book over his hand. He ran his fingers across the embossed gold knots bordering it and making a circle in the centre, then looked up at Angelica, smiling.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "It's great."

Angelica almost squealed. Almost. Instead, she just grinned and said, "I'm glad you liked it." Chris looked back at the dream journal and then back again to her. Neither of them knew what to say, so Angelica decided to fill in the silence with an invitation. "Hey, if you don't have to go back right off, why don't you go back into there with me and I'll buy you chocolate bar or something. Do you like mint imperials? I saw a few in the candy row."

"Um . . . yes?"

Angelica blinked at her friend for a moment before realising he probably had no idea what she was talking about. Laughing a little, she explained, "Mint imperials are little round white candies with hard shells and soft chewy centres. They're like, like . . . " Angelica trailed off trying to think of something to compare them to so that her friend would understand, and remembered Prue's Mentos. She was American, and Angelica was fairly certain the brand was sold in America, so she said, "They're like Mentos."

Understanding dawned on Chris' face. "Oh . . . "

Angelica smothered a laugh. "Oh, just come on. I'll pay; I've still got a bit of the money from my vault leftover from when I stopped at Gringotts over the Yule holidays."

Chris smiled slightly, and soon the two were pouring over the candy selection in the convenience store, with Chris picking up unfamiliar sweets – just about everything he saw – and Angelica explaining what it was and how good she thought it tasted. The latter never noticed that Prue was watching them over the shelves from the drinks section, but Chris did, and he held her eyes for a moment., She nodded to him, and he nodded back, relieved.

"So," he said, turning back to Angelica, who was still explaining to Chris the difference between fruit gums and fruit drops, and why she preferred the fruit gums. "What are 'Mars Bars'?"

Angelica laughed.

.

Uncle Vernon had returned from his business trip while Angelica and Prue were away, and he was not happy, as he walked out of the kitchen holding a plate stacked tall with sandwiches, to see his niece walk through the front door carrying a large paper bag, her satchel, and her school backpack. He turned a mottled red colour and blustered, "Where have you been girl?"

Angelica shrank back. "I – I was with Miss Trudoe," she said, forcing herself to be loud enough that her uncle could hear her. She didn't dare mention Aunt Petunia letting her go; Vernon would just shout at her for trying to place the blame on his wife. She stood stock still as her uncle slammed his plate onto the table by the kitchen door and stormed up to her.

"Now you listen to me, girl," he said in a low tone, "I don't want to hear any more of you disappearing for days on end, or you and I will have _words,_ do you understand?" And without waiting for an spoken answer to go along with Angelica's fearful nod, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up the stairs to throw her into her room. All the way up, Angelica didn't dare make a noise, not even when she saw the multiple locks, two of which were padlocks, that her uncle had apparently installed on the outside of her door while she'd been with Prue.

Only after he'd left and she'd heard each lock _snickt_ into place did Angelica stand up stiffly and begin putting her things away. As always happened after an encounter with Vernon, Angelica found herself feeling cold, as if she were detached, far away from her body and merely looking through the windows of her eyes while she berated herself for fearing the great tub of a man at all. While she hung her clothes in her closet and folded her jeans into the bottom drawers of her desk, Angelica had no expression on her face. She folded her sleeping bag – really Dudley's from a camping trip he'd taken when Aunt Petunia signed him up to be a Boy Scout – and put it under her bed, then tucked her bag of purchases from the festival under the loose floorboard beside her bed.

Once all this was done and her things stowed away where they should be, Angelica, still in her cold, far away haze, sat down on her bed and inspected her arm. It stung a little where her uncle's . . . where _Vernon's_ nails had dug into the skin, and she saw the beginnings of an angry bruise, but it seemed alright overall. She had lighter bruising near her elbow where she'd landed on it as she hit the floor, but there wasn't any real damage, thankfully. She'd just need to wear a few longer sleeved shirts the rest of the week when she left the house. It would make gardening uncomfortable in the afternoons, but she could deal with it.

Angelica made a quick check of the rest of her body, but the only other thing she noticed was a small cut on her jaw, barely large enough to need a Band-Aid, but still large enough to draw questions if seen. She'd have a chance to cover it up with a bandage when she washed up before making dinner, but that was still a few hours away. With nothing else to do, Angelica slipped a hand under her mattress and pulled out an old, battered book, _Practical Magic_ by Alice Hoffman.

Prue had given it to her when she was ten, saying it was her favourite book growing up, and Angelica loved it, if only for that reason. She'd forgotten it after Yule, but she had it now, and with nothing else to do, she was happy to read it. She'd hear her Uncle if he came up the stairs because they would creak, and she'd hear her Aunt from the loud clicking her heels made when they knocked together. Dudley wouldn't be able to figure out the cylinder lock, and wouldn't have a key anyway, so she wouldn't even need to worry about him. She opened the book to a random page and began to read the beginning of the last chapter.

'_Always keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don't think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year. It is the season of reversals, when the birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made up of equal parts golden light and black clouds. The rock-solid and the tenuous can easily exchange places until everything you know can be questioned and put into doubt. . . . _'


	28. Chapter 28

_All in all, her uncle hadn't hurt her too badly, and she berated herself for being so afraid of him. With nothing else to do, Angelica slipped a hand under her mattress, pulled out a book, and began to read . . . _

.

July first dawned bright and sunny through Angelica's window, and the eleven year old groaned and burrowed deeper under the white covers of her bed at Prue's house.

She sat up. When had she begun to think of Nasturtium Boulevard's guest room as her own? She was fairly certain she was the only person to stay there, true, but that didn't make it hers, even if she did keep a few changes of clothing in the top drawer of the dresser. It was Prue's house, after all, not hers. She didn't actually _live_ there; she just stayed from time to time, whenever the Dursleys locked her out of the house at night or went on vacation or something.

Definitely not going to be able to fall asleep now, Angelica tumbled out of bed – literally. She tried to pull the covers off and slip to the floor, but somehow had tangled herself up while she slept, and ended up falling to the ground with a dull _thud_. Ow.

Angelica was still trying to disengage herself from the bed sheets when Prue walked in. The woman paused mid-step when she saw her young charge brawling with her duvet, which was putting up an admirable fight, and hid a smile behind her hand. She wished she had a camera.

Said charge, meanwhile, had noticed the older witch come in, and glowered at her unhappily. "I could use some help, you know," she sulked.

Prue laughed out loud at that, but did as not-asked and pulled Angelica out. "Now make the bed, kiddo," she said, smoothing down Angelica's furiously mussed braids. "Breakfast is in a half hour, and you have that class to get to, so hurry up."

It took a moment for Angelica to figure out what Prue was talking about, but when she did and it sank in, her eyes widened and she scrambled to the bathroom. Classes started that day! She tripped over her feet as she flung herself into the bathroom across the hall to brush her teeth. She was back on her feet in a moment, and hurriedly scrubbed her mouth clean.

A few minutes later, Prue watched Angelica, trying not to laugh as the girl seemed to inhale her toast and eggs. The former Charmed One didn't say a word as she continued to pick at her oatmeal and Angelica leaned forward on the table eagerly. Neither said anything as Prue very slowly stood up and set their dishes in the sink.

"Are we going now?"

"Woah!"

Angelica jumped back from her place directly behind Prue as the women jumped backward in surprise. "Oops!" the girl said, "I'm sorry!"

Prue raised an eyebrow. "Let's get in the car." Angelica turned pink and went running for the door. Prue smiled as she walked over, when something caught her eye.

Angie's oversize shirt sleeve had flapped upward when she made for the door, showing a mottled brown bruise in the shape of a man's hand, and another on the inside of her arm near her elbow. That one was fading slightly and looked pale purple. Prue's eyes narrowed.

She was making another call to Children's Services.

.

The Tonks house was as imposing as Angelica ever could have imagined it. Before Midsummer, when she and Prue had gone to sign her up for the classes, it had seemed a pleasant place, light and sweet. Now, with her nerves jumping around in her stomach, it looked ancient and intimidating, ready to swallow her whole.

It felt remarkably like her first day of primary school.

A few cars were parked on the lawn, and some teenagers in Muggle clothes spoke animatedly with one another, obviously having taken classes at the Tonks' before. A girl with neon purple hair was wearing a faded green shirt with the words 'MIDGETS OVER HERE' emblazoned over the chest in bold black letters. As Prue and Angelica walked closer, Andromeda walked over to the girl and could be heard berating her.

"What are you wearing, Nym-"

"MUM! Don't call me that!"

"Young lady, you are a Black, and you will conduct yourself fittingly. Now go inside and put on something _nice_. I asked you to gather the new students because I - "

" – I trust you, and you're seventeen now, I expected you to be _responsible_, and to act like a good young witch. Yes, Mum, I got that. But this is noticeable, and I don't want to sling a sign round my neck and carry it all morning. Look," the girl went on, gesturing demandingly at Angelica and Prue, who were hanging back to let the two women finish their spat. "Look, mum, there's one now. The shirt _works._"

Andromeda threw her hands up into the air. "Fine, Nymph – "

"Mum!"

" – _adora._ If you do not like your name, blame your father and the maiden aunt he named you for."

And with that Andromeda strode away, into the house, completely ignoring her daughter's hair cycling red to blue and back to purple behind her.

Angelica ran up to the girl and blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"How does your hair _do_ that?"

The girl – Nymphadora, Andromeda had said – blinked in surprise before answering. "I'm a Metamorphmagus – a shape shifter, you could call it. It's an inherited trait from my Mum's side of the family; it was thought to have died out."

"That's brilliant," Angelica grinned. Then her eyes widened. "Oh! I forgot to introduce us!" She pointed at Prue. "That's Prue Trudoe, and - "

"Don't point." Angelica looked at the girl in surprise, and Nymphadora herself seemed bemused at speaking. She explained further when she saw the soon to be second year staring at her curiously. "Er, it's rude. A witch is supposed to gesture with her hand in small motions." Her hair flushed cherry red, and Angelica smiled.

"Oh. Well, this is Prue, and I'm Angelica."

Nymphadora grinned at the two of them. "Pleasure. This your first time at classes?"

Prue opened her mouth to answer, but a bell – a real bell, not like the kind at Muggle schools – rang from inside the house and there was suddenly much milling about to get inside.

"Oh, that's the start of classes. Come with me, I'm to lead any new students to their classroom."

Angelica's eyebrows shot up. "You have seven bedrooms you use as classrooms?"

Nymphadora chuckled. "Not a bit, no, there are just the three. New students are downstairs, second, third and fourth-timers are in the third bedroom, and fifth and sixth are in the forth. We only give six classes, so it works out." Angelica nodded and turned to give Prue a hug.

Prue hugged her back tightly. "See you at three, alright, kiddo?"

"Mm-hmm," Angelica murmured into the older witched vest.

Prue stood there for a few minutes, until she'd seen Angelica walk inside, before heading back to her car, mentally going through everything she'd tell children's services. This wasn't the first time he'd been reported to them, after all, and not all those times had been by her, so there must be a file _somewhere_, even if after that third time when Angelica was eight people started thinking Angelica was just getting hurt from trying to bully the other kids in the neighbourhood. As she turned the main road, Prue suddenly thought of something

Why in the _world_ hadn't she cast a spell to move things along before now? She'd lost count of how many times she'd been angry at nothing being done for Angelica; she should have thought of this right away.

With that thought in mind, Prue pushed the gas pedal a little harder. Now did she want to cast the spell then call, or call then cast it? Decisions, decisions . . .

.

.

Perhaps out of old habits, Prue could be found that afternoon in her rarely-used attic, preparing. The attic was rather short – barely tall enough to stand in – and the only reason it wasn't coated in dust was because Prue had a dust allergy and no qualms whatsoever about casting a spell to prevent the stuff from piling up. A floor lamp and a pair of small windows on either side of the room provided the only light. Prue didn't mind: the windows were circular, and made it that much easier for her not to cast an oval instead.

A Polaroid picture of Vernon Dursley was propped up against a red taper candle on a low table in front of Prue, and a stoneware bowl was in front of it. Prue closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate, and focused on the Dursley walrus getting his just desserts. She lit the red candle and picked up the picture.

"Let cruelty, pain and evil ways,  
>Follow this villain through his days.<br>Reverse the torment he creates,  
>to turn on him the crueler fate.<p>

He who hurts those in his care,  
>Won't find protection anywhere.<br>Under the rug no secrets are hidden,  
>Attempts to change justice are now overridden."<p>

With that, Prue dipped the edge of the photograph into the candle flame, and as it licked at Vernon's chin, growing closer to his eyes, she dropped it in the bowl, calmly watching as the Polaroid turned to ash. When it had, she pinched out the candle flame and stood with a murmured, 'the circle is open but unbroken,' and went downstairs to fix herself a mug of coffee before she went to pick Angelica up. Children's Services had been called, and now it looked like something would actually be done about Vernon.

Prue could hardly wait.

.

Angelica only looked around the classroom for a moment before she saw Chris. The next thing the boy knew, he was being tackled from behind by a sixty something pound sack of girl, and only barely managed to stay upright.

"Chris!" Angelica cried, a grin stretching her face. "I missedyou."

The twelve year old raised an eyebrow. "So you tried to kill me?"

Before they could continue speaking, however, Mrs. Tonks came into the room, and the nine or so students inside stopped talking almost instantly. Mrs. Tonks smiled.

"Good afternoon, everyone, as you may already know, my name is Andromeda Tonks, and I will be teaching you how to interact in the wizarding world. Now, how many of you attended Hogwarts last year?"

Six hands went up. Andromeda nodded.

"Exactly. Sixty percent of all Muggleborn and half-blood students attend the school, and nearly all pureblood heirs do, with a small percentage being tutored at home. How many of you had a confrontation or managed to upset one of the wizard raised students at your school without meaning to?"

All nine students' hands shot into the air, and a freckled brunette in the back raised two.

"Only one hand is needed, Miss Weiss," Andromeda chided. The brunette girl flushed slightly and lowered her left hand. "About as I expected. As you no doubt found after a year in our world, wizards operate on a set of social norms both very different and very much the same as those in the Muggle world. Now, can anyone tell me why you are called Mister or Miss at school, rather than by your first name?" When no one raised their hands, Andromeda continued as if she'd never stopped speaking.

"It is because in out world first names are only to be used by those close to you – family, friends, and, when one is older, lovers." Andromeda Tonks was nothing if not to the point. "Today I will show you how to introduce yourself to another witch or wizard, so pair off, quickly."

The lesson covered a great deal more than introductions, but Angelica assumed it was meant that way. Within the talk of how to present yourself to another person were snippets and facts like assuming another person's emotions was 'entirely rude,' one did not sit at a dinner party until the host was seated, young witches and wizards raised in the magical world took the sort of lessons Andromeda taught when they were little, either from an unmarried female relative or else from an established witch known to be knowledgeable on all matters of importance in magical life.

When a boy from St. George's swore after tripping, Mrs. Tonks _scourgified_ his mouth and told them all, "Swearing in public is one of the highest offences that may be given, only slightly less terrible than breaking your word. It is disgusting and rude and shows without any doubt that you are no more than plebian slime not fit to use magic."

Angelica thought that very much described the attitude a lot of her housemates held toward Ronald Weasley.

.

**AN/AR: I'm so sorry this took so long – please don't be mad at me? I hope the classes turned out well, and what did you think of Prue's thought process? Did it fit her? Drop me a line, tell me what you think.**

**Seriously. I'm a review glut, feed my addiction.**

**PLEASE.**

**- Merc.**


	29. Chapter 29

**AN/AR: This chapter will have some more swearing than usual, due to the high emotions felt by some of the characters. You have been warned.**

A week after calling Children's Services, Prue was ready to rip her hair out. The social workers had come and gone, and Angelica was still staying with the Dursleys every night that they didn't lock her out of the house. It was maddening. She was at her wit's end – what could she _do?_

Apparently, not much. On the tenth of July, Angelica showed up on Prue's front step with a large bloody gash on the side of her face with a dark bruise at the top, starting at the bottom of her lightning bolt scar and continuing down to her jaw and holding her arm close to her body. Prue couldn't help it: she screamed when she saw it, nearly sending Angelica running. Without a thought for the blood that would almost definitely stain her white blouse, she pulled the girl into her arms. "Oh, Angie," she murmured, stroking her hair.

That seemed to be the breaking point for Angelica, and she started sobbing against Prue's chest. They stayed like that for a long while as the sunlight dimmed. The last of the light was finally fading when Prue snapped back to reality and began to lead Angelica to her car. "Where are we going?" was the elven year old's murmured question.

Prue tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt false on her face, and she soon stopped. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she told her. "What happened?"

Angelica was silent. Prue sighed and started the car. They'd been driving for a few minutes when the girl spoke up. Prue trained to hear her. "Uncle Vernon came home early. Aunt Petunia was out, and Dudley was with Piers and his friends, at the cinema, I think. There's a movie out they wanted to see, _Shrek_, I think it was called. I was the only one home, and I was mowing the lawn. I only had a few chores left to do, and I was really pleased, because I figured I'd have them done before everyone was due home, so I might have a chance to watch something on the telly, or play one of Dudley's video games." Angelica paused for breath before going on.

"I didn't know he was home when I came in. I was going to get the mop out from m– from the cupboard under the stairs so I could mop the kitchen, and I suppose he must have heard me come inside, because I was looking for the mop when he pushed me inside. I yelped, and I suppose it made him angry, because he pulled me out and he – he hit me. His old class ring from Smeltings hit my face, and I started bleeding. It got all over his hand and he started shouting. I don't remember what he said.

"He pulled me into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I tried to pull away from him, but he grabbed my wrist tighter. He held my head down and carved a line down my face. He said it's what a freak like me deserved, that people like you and me deserved to die. I got so _angry_ . . . how could he say something like that about you? I kicked him, and he pushed me into the wall, where the corner jutted out. There was a loud crack, and I just ran. I thought he was going to kill me . . . "

Angelica began to cry again, and it was all Prue could do not to join her. How dare he? What had Angelica ever done to Vernon fucking Dursley? She pushed the pedal more, and the Volkswagen sped faster down the road. Even if she had to hire a Phoenix witch to do, it she _would_ make that man pay.

It thankfully – and to Prue's eternal shock – only took a half an hour after entering the A&E (Accident and Emergency) at St. Peter's Hospital to get Angelica to a doctor. Prue stood worriedly outside the room where Angelica was waiting after being x-rayed. She sagged visibly in relief when a man in a chalk striped suit went inside. Probably a social worker – Prue knew for a fact that when a child came into the A&E with bruises the hospital had to call social services. A small smile flitted onto her face. _Please, Angie,_ she thought, _**tell them**_. If Angelica told them the truth, they'd have to take her out of that wretched place, they'd have to.

The chalk suit man came out a half an hour later, and the doctor came up to Prue. "Miss Trudoe?" he asked.

Prue stood up a little straighter. "Yeah?" she asked, wincing internally – she sounded like a twenty-five year old. She died at almost thirty, damn it.

The doctor glanced back at Angelica's room before speaking again. "I'm afraid you won't be able to take Angelica home with you – the social worker said there is evidence of abuse and it isn't safe for her to return to her place of residence at this time."

"She doesn't live with me," Prue said, mind racing. Angelica wasn't going back. She wasn't going back to the Dursleys. This was wonderful. "She lives with her relatives a few streets down from me; she knocked on my door earlier this evening and I brought her over, but I'm not her legal guardian."

The doctor looked surprised. "Miss Trudoe, would you please come with me . . . "

What followed was a long, _long_ question and answer session with Dr. Crowley, at the end of which Prue was relieved to be able to see Angelica before she was taken into foster care. "Hey, kiddo," he said softly, sitting on the side of Angelica's bed. The side of her face looked, frankly, frightful with the stitches going up it, but the girl didn't seem to care. "Guess what? You're not going back."

Prue honestly didn't think she could have said anything to make Angelica's face light up more, and the girl looked ecstatic. "Do I get to go home with you?" she asked.

The older witch's face fell a little, and she shook her head, hating how she saw Angelica go from gleeful to heartbroken in an instant. "You'll be going into foster care," she said. "I'm going to apply to take you in, but I don't know if they'll let me. Are you going to be okay?"

Angelica nodded, looking resolutely at her hands. "Yeah," she said softly. "I mean, anywhere has to be better than there, hasn't it?"

Much as she knew that that was the way the system worked, Prue couldn't help but feel, as the nurse came in and said she had to leave, that she'd wronged Angelica in some way.

Had she done the right thing?

.

Angelica was confused. She was happy she was away from her relatives, of course, but . . . She'd always thought that when she got away from them that Miss Trudoe would be the one taking her in. But she wasn't. She was leaving Angelica in the hospital to wait for some social worker to take her . . . somewhere. Angelica honestly didn't know what to think of that.

.

Maybe she was selfish. _Maybe_ this would fall very distinctly under the 'personal gain' category when she actually managed it. Maybe the Elders would want to recycle her sorry ass for it.

But frankly Prue couldn't bring herself to _care_.

She had a plan. Virtually everyone in the magical world – her magical world at least, not the wizardy wand-waving one – had heard about the (second) Charmed Ones' temporary disappearance and the spell they used to do it. No one but her sisters actually knew what the spell _was_, but Prue could work with that. She just needed to know it was possible for someone other than an Elder to do.

It took one week and eight failed attempts before Prue finally decided to enlist some help. Working from the Book of Shadows, Prue placed five candles in a loose circle on the floor of the attic, lit them and said the spell, silently thankful her ancestors weren't big on pomp and ceremony.

"Hear these words, hear my cry,  
>Spirit form the Other Side,<br>Come to me, I summon thee,  
>Cross now the Great Divide."<p>

A column of loose yellow lights swirled around for a moment, and Prue grinned. It worked. Penny Halliwell, for her part, didn't look as surprised as she probably should have.

"I was wondering when you'd get around to calling me," she said, smirking, as she stepped out of the circle and became corporeal. "Now, what's the emergency?"

It was amazing how easy it was to talk to someone you'd last fought with when you were alive and in your early twenties. Prue gave Grams the Cliff Notes version – Prue was a Whitelighter, Angelica used to be her charge, she cared enough about the kid that she REALLY didn't want her to end up in foster care until she was eighteen, and she needed Grams to tell her the spell her sisters had used to change their identities after they vanquished Zankou.

Grams took all of a minute to process this, before walking over to Prue's Book of Shadows(briefly raising an eyebrow at the dark purple cover, but not saying anything about it) and scribbling down instructions with the pen Prue always kept with it. "There," she said, "this should work."

Prue pulled the book from the older dead woman's hands and eagerly looked over the spell. When she'd finished, she looked up to thank her grandmother . . . only to see that she was gone. She raised her eyebrows. With an irritated glance upward she called out, _"Thanks_, Grams."

She didn't get an answer. Pointedly ignoring this, Prue lugged the Book down the ladder and into her bathroom and propped it against the left tap, by the wall. She needed to focus on who she was going to be; it shouldn't be too hard, she just wanted to change her identity a little bit by registering one Prudence 'Trudoe' as a foster parent that had already jumped through the necessary hoops to adopt a child. With this in mind, she looked her mirror self in the eye and recited,

"I call upon the Ancient Powers,  
>to mask me now and in future hours,<br>Hide me well and thoroughly,  
>but not from those I call family."<p>

Nothing seemed to have changed. Prue stood there a moment, just thinking, wondering how anything might have changed.

Only one way to find out.

*Prue strode out of the bathroom and picked up the phone on her bedside table. A few minutes after dialling, she set it back onto the hook and smiled in satisfaction. She was Prudence Shannon Trudoe, registered foster parent and soon-to-be adoptive mother of one Angelica *Jacqueline Potter.

.

**AN/AR: I'm not sure if you can actually call like Prue did: I don't know much about foster care in the UK, but I'm using the internet to try and make it as accurate as possible with only three or four hours of research. My Google-fu stinks, I know. **

**Yes, Angie's middle name is Jacqueline – female form of Jacques, which is the French form of James. I think it works, and it fits her, doesn't it? - Merc.**


	30. Chapter 30

Albus Dumbledore gave a long tired sigh as he fell down into his cushy chintz armchair. How had this happened? His eyes roamed over his spindly silver instruments – specifically, the dozen or so monitoring young Angelica Potter. He'd been alarmed when – yet again – the Muggles tried to take his student away from the safety of her home, but he'd been able to fix it as easily as he always did. But now? She was gone, and so was young Dudley. The Muggles had taken the both of them.

The aged headmaster leaned back and stroked his beard thoughtfully, thinking back to the first time he'd been alerted to the young Potter heiress being removed from the Dursley family's care. It had been a few days after the fact – he'd been at a week-long ICW summit – and he'd been worried. Why, after all, would the Muggles take a child from their family?

Soon, of course, he found out that Muggles monitored their young to be sure no harm came to them. This had alarmed him, and he'd immediately gone to confront Vernon and Petunia. Apparently young Angelica had gotten into an altercation with some hooligans in the neighbourhood and dragged her cousin into it, alarming the teachers. One of them had called the Muggle Children's Services and the two had been removed in short order.

All easily fixed with a few waves of his wand. The Muggle government really did interfere too much, and was quite paranoid. From that point on Albus didn't bother looking into it, and merely fixed the Muggles' mistakes. They didn't know any better after all – it wasn't like they could record time in a Penseive to see what had happened. They had to guess, apparently, and really it was just so much better that he monitor things for them.

He had thought he wouldn't have to when young Angelica was only home during the summer and over the winter holidays, but had still checked his silver instruments to be sure. To his shock, the Muggle social workers again came to the Dursley house in early July. Albus had been ready to go in and stop it when his devices informed him that it wasn't necessary – the social workers were leaving. He'd sat back and enjoyed a lemon drop, confident that nothing untoward would be happening the rest of the summer.

That wasn't the case at all. Somehow, without his noticing, the Potter and Dursley children had been removed from Petunia and Vernon's care overnight, and Angelica was already adopted, with Albus having no clue as to who by. He did know however, that it must be a wizard or a witch. The amount of magic near the girl, though low, was certainly higher than could be found in any normal Muggle household, indicating at least two magical persons in the house. He just needed to find out what Dark wizard had done this, and save Angelica. His devices showed Angelica far happier than he had ever seen her – obviously she was being dosed with potions to confuse her and make her complacent.

He must fix this.

.

"How?"

Such a simple question. To tell the truth, Prue was surprised Angelica hadn't asked it before now. Still, she should probably make sure she knew what the kid was asking her. "How what?"

Angelica raised her eyebrows. "How did you adopt me so fast? I've looked into it before – I spent half of primary school trying to figure out ways to trick you into adopting me." Prue opened her mouth to speak – Angelica had wanted her to adopt her? - but the girl ploughed on. "The average adoption takes about two years to go through. You got me in less than two _days_. How?"

Prue paused for a moment, deciding just how she wanted to answer. Finally, she settled on a wink and a snarky, "Magic" before getting up from the kitchen table to wash her empty dinner plate. Angelica didn't say anything from where she was still picking at her peas – apparently she hadn't ever really had them at the Dursley's, so avoided the 'odd' little round vegetable. Prue didn't think anything of it until she heard a giggle from the child.

Turning around, Prue merely gave a resigned sigh. Angelica's friend – Chris – had orbed in and was eating her peas happily, while she laughed at the funny faces he made while he chewed. He looked up when Prue shifted her weight to cross her arms, and gave a small wave, swallowing. "Hi, Prue," he said easily. "You make great peas."

The witch turned Whitelighter rolled her eyes. "No, the farmers market grows good peas, I just dump them in a pot full of water until they're warm. Congrats, Angie, you get another helping."

Angelica woe begotten groan did nothing but make Chris snicker. One had to love being part of a family.

.

_July 22, 2002_

Culture classes were at their height so far as the curriculum was concerned, and so when Andromeda Tonks held everyone up after classes one bright summer afternoon, there was much groaning and worrying about homework being assigned by the first-time students, none of whom noticed the older wizards' eager faces. True, the eleven and twelve year olds thought, that days lessons about House Elves – beings created through justice magic from gremlins – but they wanted to go home and _relax_.

As they drew closer to the intimidating witch, however, they saw that she was handing them all brightly-coloured flyers, obviously designed by her daughter, if the deliberately messy font was anything to go by.

**T O N K S . F A M I L Y . P I C N I C !**

**Inviting all Culture students to an  
>afternoon of music, good food and<br>swimming in the lake! **-N-y-m-** The  
>daughter Tonks will entertain with<br>her lovely singing voice. You all know  
><strong>**what the proper attire is for youths at  
><strong>**an informal get together, so no excuses  
><strong>**are to be had!**

**TIME: . . . . . 4 o'clock**  
><strong>PLACE: . . . Tonks' house<strong>  
><strong>DATE: . . July 26, 2004<strong>

Angelica took her bright green flier with a smile and took a few seconds to read out the hand drawn heading – Nymmie 'call me by my surname, midgets' Tonks apparently loved messy, stylised writing, though thankfully the rest of the invitation had been typed neatly with a typewriter,likely by Ted, who guarded his 'magic' electronic machine jealously in his office, declaring the space a wand free zone. The fact that this meant he got a television had no bearing on that decision whatsoever, of course.

Right.

Thus, at the end of that week, Angelica was quite pleased to find herself free to wander through the wood around the Tonks' house. Her new dress 'robe' – pale blue and reaching just past the knee, showing she was an unattached maiden not yet of an age to actually _be_ in a relationship – was itchy where the edges crinoline fabric hit her legs, but it was fairly easy to ignore, and Angelica was just happy to lean against a tree and just . . . look up at the sky through the branches. The wood felt _alive_.

Unthinkingly, Angelica began tracing absent little lines in the dirt at her feet. She looked down after a moment, and noticed that she'd made the symbol for the element earth – an downward pointing triangle with a line running through the top. She smiled a little at it and made to brush it away when a voice stopped her.

"Oh, don't do that, your picture's pretty."

Angelica jumped – the voice had come from right behind her. Only the tree was there. She eyed it warily. After a long moment, the bark of the tree seemed to ripple, and a girl's face formed. "Hello, there," she said, smiling. "Who are you?"

Angelica blinked in shock. " . . . Are you a dryad?" she blurted out.

The dryad pouted. "That _can't_ be your name, and no, I'm not. I'm a *hamadryad – I'm actually in integral _part_ of my tree, thank you very much."

"Oh . . . Er, I'm Angelica, pleased to meet you." The Potter girl almost went to hold out her hand, but dropped it back to her side halfway through the motion – the hamadryad didn't seem to have hands, after all.

Or, you know, not. The hamadryad smiled prettily and leaned forward, revealing her torso and then her legs as she stepped from her tree and over to Angelica. The girl blinked to see her wearing an Ancient Greek _peplos_ – a kind of sleeveless dress. It was odd, to Angelica's mind, because generally when she saw drawings or paintings of any sort of nymph, they weren't, well . . . _clothed_.

The hamadryad studied Angelica for a moment, before holding out a hand. "I'm Danae. I like you."

Angelica didn't know how to really respond to that. So, she smiled, shook Danae's hand, and said, "I like you, too."

Chris found the two females some time later, both their dark heads huddled together, laughing merrily over some joke Danae had inadvertently made. He shook his head; girls were strange.

.

Very little happened the rest of the summer. Chris was a constant companion, even spending Lammas* with Angelica and Prue. They spent the day happily canning preserves and failing to make edible bread until Chris took over and got it right, while the two females were relegated to making cornbread out of a box – with _very_ simple instructions printed in easy to read letters on the back, complete with pictures. They made little doughy figures that they baked and later fed one another with a murmured, "may you never go hungry." They stayed up the whole night, making corn dollies early on and later just sitting outside on the grass around the fire pit, telling stories and saying silent farewells to their regrets from the past year.

It wasn't a large, formal ritual, but Angelica thought it was the best holiday she'd ever spent with anyone, and would always be the one she liked best. Maybe next year they'd do something big, but this year . . . this would be the one that stuck with her. It was fun, and laughing, and she felt warm inside just thinking about it.

Classes ended with August. Hermione invited Angelica and Chris to her house in Winchester, and a quick orb later had the three of them playing draughts in her attic, while her parents called up the stairs that they were going out to some party or other, and not to stay up past seven. At her friends' questioning looks, Hermione flushed. "Mum and Dad tend to forget I'm not eight anymore," she explained, "That's what they've said since then. Before that it was 'don't upset the babysitter' – I had a few bad instances with accidental magic."

The two nodded. "You're parents are a bit distant, aren't they?" Angelica commented off handedly.

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose. At least they remember to tell me they're going out, most of the time – a boy down the street is almost always there by himself, and he gets ever so scared when his parents forget to tell him they're leaving. Mum says he has dependency issues or something. I think he just gets lonely. I'd invite him over, but he's frightened of me."

Chris, blunt as ever, asked the question on both his and Angelica's minds. "Why?"

"I might have – accidentally, of course – "

" – of course – "

" – hush, you. I didn't _mean_ to break his arm, but he wouldn't stop pushing me on the swing, and kept telling me I'd break my neck, and I was seven and frightened." Hermione glared at her two dark haired friends as if daring them to find a flaw with her younger self's actions. Chris smirked.

"Like I said, of course it wasn't your fault." Hermione threw the playing board at him.

.

**AN/AR: A hamadryad is a form of dryad, and like all nymphs is supernaturally long-lived and tied to its home. They are, however, a step beyond normal dryads in that they are an integral part of their tree, and if the tree dies, so does the hamadryad. Because of this, in Greek legends dryads and the gods punished mortals that harmed the hamadryads trees without propitiating the hamadryads first harshly. - Yeah, I pretty much re-worded Wikipedia. Don't sue me. I'm broke. Until I get a babysitting job, then I'll have . . . four bucks an hour? Maybe? *gived those with lawyers a long look* Because that's so worth your time and the money it would take to sue me.**

**Lammas is also called Lughnassadh, though there is some difference, the two names are used interchangeably. It's celebrated on August first, sometimes July thirty-first(Angie's birthday!) and is the first of the three harvest festivals(Lammas/Lughnassadh, Mabon, and Samhain). It is a time to start reaping what you've sown and to recognise that summers ending – no matter how much the scorching heat outside may try to convince you otherwise. Celebrations focus either on the harvest aspect or the Celtic god Lugh. For more information, ask in a review or PM me.**

**PS – GO GIANTS! I TOLD BLAKE YOU'D WIN! YES! ( . . . That I mostly watch the super bowl for the ads and to spend time with my dad where's he's NOT lecturing me about the military is irrelevant: my family supports New York, and _we won_. *happy face*)**

**- Merc.**


	31. Chapter 31

**AN/AR: Okay, for this chapter everyone gets to see a Christopher's-eye view of the previous, hope you enjoy.**

**Yes, it's mostly a cop-out for messing up and not including things I thought I put into the last chapter but didn't. Oops? I've never claimed to be _truly_ perfect . . . I'm just really, really close. (Eh? Eh? . . . . Yeah, not funny, is it? *pouts*) Enjoy. **

**- Merc.**

.

Chris loved it when the Manor was quiet. This was probably the first time it had been like that all summer – even at night, there was the occasional explosion from Melinda's 'experiments' with potions in the attic, and the sound of machine guns from Wyatt's late night video game sessions.

Actually, when he thought about, that was really . . . _sad_. Tomorrow was September first, and _now_ was the only time he had any peace and quiet? Shaking his head, Chris pulled himself up off of the window seat and looked around his room – he'd miss it when he went back to Hogwarts. It was the same blue colour it had been ever since his parents painted it to be Wyatt's nursery, not that you could see much of that, since Chris had tacked papers all over it. Mostly his drawings and vintage posters he'd found online or in thrift stores, but there were some awards from school taped up over his dresser. His mom complained about it a lot – she didn't like the holes in the walls – but Chris thought it was perfect.

He stretched, and was rewarded with the sound of his back cracking loudly. He winced. The actual feel was just fine, but the sound grated on his ears. Still, nothing he could do about that, unless he wanted to pour bleach in his ears. With a shrug, Chris walked out of the room and down to the kitchen to make some food. Mel would appreciate it, when she got back from her belt testing. What one was she going for, now? Blue? Or purple?

He'd just look at whatever one she was holding up when she burst in the back door from the laundry room – for some reason she always avoided the front one. Then, Melinda was a little nuts. Probably from having too many IQ points. Chris made a mental note never to introduce his little sister to his best friend.

As he got out the chicken and rest of the makings for chicken parmesan, Chris thought back over the past summer. It had been . . . odd. He'd definitely never had one like it before going to Hogwarts and meeting Angie. Oh, he'd better defrost the broccoli so he could steam it. Where had his mother put it again? Bottom or top shelf? Chris started searching the freezer, his mind still drifting over the past two (insane) months.

Miss Trudoe was definitely a witch to be respected, if nothing else. Chris doubted his mom or his aunts could have pulled off the spell she did to be able to adopt Angelica, paperwork and all. He knew they'd done something similar to fake their deaths, but he wondered if they could do something similar with their real identities.

Chris shrugged. He was just glad that Angelica was happy. She seemed to be over the moon about her adoption. She had probably smiled more throughout July alone than she had all during the last school year. Culture classes at the Tonks' house had been cool, and the picnic they'd held had been fun once he'd found Angelica with that hamadryad. He'd been worried about her before that. Just a little.

Lammas had been great. His mom had been fine letting him spend it with Angelica and Miss Trudoe in Little Whinging, and it was really nice. Watching Prue and Angie completely fail at bread making had been hilarious. Nice as that was, though, he thought Angelica's birthday had been better. Prue had taken him, Angelica and Hermione out to an amusement park and they spent the whole day riding the Ferris wheel, the two roller coasters and the carousel, then starting over again. The food had been great, too – they'd had the best corn dogs Chris had ever tasted.

Even better that that was the look Angelica wore the whole day. She was absolutely happy. She hadn't stopped smiling at all. When Chris had asked her about it, she'd just shrugged and said, 'I've never really had a birthday before, and this is the bes one I'll ever have, I think.'

_SLAM!_

Chris was forcibly ripped from his thoughts by Melinda's wide grin as she burst through the back door into the laundry room.

_FWACK!_

Another explosion of noise as the nine year old bounded into the kitchen. Her hair was in two messy pigtails and she was grinning and clutching a purple belt in her hands. Her gi was stained green. Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to change into normal clothes before walking home?" he asked evenly. Merlinda raised her own eyebrow back at him and crossed her arms.

"Mom's not home, duh, why bother changing when I'll only have to again when I get home. You're such a goof," she said frankly. Then, in a complete one-eighty, she grinned again and hopped up and down to wave her new belt in her brother's face. "I did it! I got my belt! I got my belt!"

Chris flashed a smile at his sister and wrapped her up into a hug. "That's great," he grinned. "Put it up before I spill the sauce on it. I made your favourite."

Melinda smiled and ran out of the room. After a moment, Chris could hear the pounding of her feet on the staircase. He shook his head and held back a laugh; his sister, for all that she tried to act grown-up, was a bigger kid than Wyatt. He'd have to 'accidentally' orb her belt down in front of his parents so they'd congratulate her. Mel was the only one that actually knew he was perfectly fine at controlling his telekinetic orbing, he could easily pass it off as an accident.

The microwave went off, and Chris pulled out the broccoli quickly, before the hot plate could make him drop it. He set it on the table next to the two as of yet unfinished plates. The chicken breasts should be done in a few minutes, and the sauce smelled just right. The twelve year old's lips twitched proudly at the meal makings.

_BZZT_ went the buzzer as Melinda walked in the room. She strode straight over to the table, standing on the other side to stay out of the way and still get a good look at what her brother was doing. He made a show of rolling his eyes at her and pulled the chicken out. Melinda grinned. "I want the left one!" she declared.

"You'll get the right one."

"No, the left!"

"That's what I said."

"You said right!"

"Not _that_ right, nut case. Right like correct."

Melinda stuck her tongue out at him, and Chris returned in kind. He loved playing this game with her. He set the chicken breasts on the rigatoni and added sauce. In a moment Melinda had snatched up her plate and was wolfing it down. One, Two . . .

"D'yah! Ho'! Ho'! Ah, i's ho'!"

Chris clutched his sides, laughing like a maniac. "It just came out of the oven!" he snickered. Melinda set her now empty glass of milk down heavily and glared at him.

"Not funny!"

"Uh, yeah, I think it is."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. He used a knife and fork to take a non-tongue burning bite of his dinner.

.

September first dawned warm and bright. And with Melinda setting off an air horn in his ear.

"CHRISSIE!" she shouted, "IT'S NINE O'CLOCK! YOUR TRAIN LEAVES AT ELEVEN! WAKE UUUUUP! UP! UP! UP-UP-UP!"

Chris shot out of bed, his book clattering to the floor with a dull _thump_ as he ran after the girl. "Prudence Melinda !" he shouted, reaching out to grab her. "England's eight hours ahead of us and you know it! Now come here!"

"NEVER! AH-HA-HAH!"

Chris really hated having a little sister sometimes.

Not, however, when he was able to orb in front of her and see her face as he tackled her to the ground in what amounted to a furious . . . tickle fight. When they'd finished trying to get the other one to asphyxiate, the two Halliwells grinned goofily at one another. "Beat ya," Melinda smirked.

"You get to deal with Wy for a year without me," he returned, equally smug. Melinda rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. You wanna mooch breakfast off Aunt Paige?"

"Uncle Coop makes chocolate chip pancakes on Sundays."

The younger of the two thought that over for a moment before she grabbed her brother's arm. "Let's go!"

And so they did. Chris' last day with his aunts, sister and cousins was just right, in his opinion. Tam and Kat finally had their powers, and were continually blowing things up or freezing them, to their mother's delight and Uncle Henry's worry. PJ and Mel used Uncle Coop as a 'sparring partner' – ie, a training dummy – and Chris flitted between everyone, laughing and showing off a few sketches to his Aunt Paige, who told him that he might want to try painting, too – apparently he had a good eye.

All things come to an end, though, and soon Chris found his family all insisting on seeing him off at the train station. He really couldn't hold back the grin that wormed its way onto his face after that. His parents and Wyatt were at some important thing or other to do with Excalibur – a gnome was claiming he'd found a new legend about King Arthur, and of course it had to be looked into, Chris understood that. Really, he did. On the day he was due to leave for school across the country . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. It was important.

Chris knew that.

.

Hogwarts was . . . insane. Exactly the same, pretty much. Angie had presented him with his school supplies when he found her and Hermione together in their compartment. He'd asked her and Prue to get his things for him when they went to Diagon Alley, and they'd been happy to. Neville showed up just before the train was sue to leave, and they spent the ride happily chatting.

Piper had insisted Chris keep up with his normal school work this year, and Hermione instantly jumped on that, dragging Angie with her. Neville just held up his hands and stated he'd take Muggle Studies in a few years. Which of course lead to a long conversation taking the rest of the trip to finish about the pros and cons of all the electives Hogwarts offered, and what ones they all thought _should_ be offered.

The school song made people's ears bleed, kids were sorted, and Dumbledore announced the new Defence teacher while students began the betting pool on what would get rid of the poor sap that applied _this_ time. More of the same, really. Chris happily fell into his bed in the dark grey stonework of the Slytherin dorms, not even bothering to pull the stupidly heavy – it didn't matter how warm it was, it needed a feather light charm _again._ What, did washing it _have_ to get rid of it every time? That wasn't even a spell in his year level, and it was a pain to cast – emerald green covers over him. He fell asleep in his school robe and Muggle clothes, and honestly could care less.

He may want to punch that little snot Malfoy in the morning, though . . .

Huh. He was violent when he got sleepy. Maybe he ought to have slept on the train?


	32. Chapter 32

_Halliwell Manor, September 5_

On the front step of a bright red house on Prescott Street, two women stood. The dark haired one turned to her red-haired sister. "Do you want to knock or should I?"

Paige smiled wanly. "Please, go right ahead."

Rolling her eyes, Phoebe rapped quickly on the glass before turning the door knob and walking straight inside. "Hello?" she called out, "Hey Piper, Leo!"

"Phoebe? Paige? What in the world?" Piper's voice was heard before she came into view, apparently having been in the middle of a cleaning spree: her hair was falling out of it's messy ponytail, her hands were wrinkled and she was wearing clothes Phoebe was almost certain came from the discarded box of maternity wear Piper had stuffed in the closet under the stairs. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Well, that's a funny story," Paige started before Phoebe elbowed her in the ribs. "Ow," the youngest Halliwell sister muttered. "That hurt."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "We need to talk to you and Leo," she said flatly to her older sister. "Where is he?"

Piper smoothed down her baggy shirt self-consciously. "I think he's out with Darryl, something about sports, but why do you want to talk to us? Did something happen . . . ?"

"No," Paige answered.

There didn't seem to be much arguing to be had. Piper raised her hands in surrender and set the damp dishcloth she'd been holding on the stone table in the entryway. "Okay," she said. "Whatever it is, let's talk about it. Come on, let's sit in the living room."

In a moment, the three sisters were seated around the coffee table, with Piper waiting for the other two to speak while she stared at the pictures going up with the staircase. It was Phoebe that spoke, getting straight to the point.

"It's about Chris." If the middle Halliwell sister registered Piper's surprised face, she didn't show it. "Again. You're doing it again, you and Leo both."

"Phoebe, what are you _talking_ abou-"

"You're ignoring him, Piper! Yesterday he was going to school in another _country_ and you or Leo couldn't bother to see him off? Piper, I know you love him, so why are pushing him away? Please, tell me."

Phoebe was leaning forward now, staring, boring holes into her sister's skull. She didn't get it, she really didn't. She'd seen how much her sister and Leo loved their kids, all three of them. But when Chris hit school age, it suddenly seemed like the two of them just couldn't bear him or _something_. She didn't get it. She didn't know _why_. Why had Chris fallen to the wayside? Wyatt and Melinda – you couldn't find better loved kids if you tried, not in all of San Francisco.

But Chris? Both his aunts had seen him, from the time he was five years old, strive to get a glimmer of his parent's attention, and they just grew more and more distant the older he got. He had A's and B's across the board to try and get their attention, got one of the chef's at Piper's restaurant to teach him to cook so he could impress his mom, he had lemonade stands every Saturday for two months so he could pay for shop lessons to make his dad proud. And none of it worked. Piper and Leo gave half hearted 'way to go, kiddo's and an 'atta boy' or 'that' great peanut' when he showed them what he'd done, and then gone straight back to whatever they'd been doing before.

For the love of all the gods ever known, when Chris was nine he _memorised_ Grams' spell book and was able to recite it backwards! He'd recited maybe three entries when Piper told him to leave off, because she was trying to read a book.

But at the same time, Piper and Leo always _watched_ their younger son. They knew everything a parent would want to – his favourite food, hobbies, books, television shows . . . more than once, Piper had come to either Paige or Phoebe to get a second, third, heck, even a fourth opinion about what Chris would like better as a gift, or whether or not he'd want a party for his birthday. Piper kept his baby book up meticulously. Leo made him little wooden figurines all the time, leaving them on the boy's night stand when he finished one.

So why in the world didn't they _show_ the kid, or _tell_ him they cared? At all?

It was a long while before Piper spoke. She looked away from her sisters, at some speck of dust on the floor. "I . . . " She choked a little, and her sisters noticed her eyes were very red. "We . . . "

Without another word, Piper stood up and ran up the stairs, where the dull _thud_ of her bedroom door slamming closed could be heard. Phoebe and Paige stared at each other in shock.

"Do you think we actually got to her?" Paige asked, half disbelieving anything could make their sister see sense.

Phoebe only shrugged. "I don't know, sweetie. I don't know."

.

…_. … .. – DEAR - - - I . . . – __

_I am a terrible mother. I know that. My whole family knows  
>it. I don't have an excuse for how I treat Chris.<em>

_He's my peanut, my baby boy. I love him,. So much._

_I can barely stand to look at him._

_He's not Chris. He's __**Chris**_**. **_That doesn't make sense! It does._

_It was so easy, before, when he was a baby. He was my little  
>guy, my peanut.<em>

_He got older. 'Chris!' 'Yeah?' Not my Chris. Not the one that  
>risked everything, that saved the future, that never got to live<br>it. Not the Chris I already loved. Not a cheap imitation either. A  
>beautiful, perfect, wonderful . . . <em>_different__ boy. Chris. Not Chris.  
>Neurotic? Not as much. Sarcastic? Some. So, so desperate to<br>please? Completely different from himself._

_I couldn't do that to him! Compare him, make him feel less –  
>I'd be worse than I was in that evil future, where I abandoned<br>him at fourteen, damn it! He's my baby boy, peanut, honey . . .  
>How can I make him feel like he isn't what he's <em>_**supposed**__ to  
>be? He's perfect.<em>

_But he's not Chris._

_It was so much easier, before . . . when he didn't look like  
>himself yet.<em>

_I am a terrible mother. _

_Should I hate myself?_

.

Leo found out what had happened – or got the idea of it – when he came home from Darryl's. Piper was sprawled across the bed, clutching a pillow over her head and staring at the ground blankly with tear tracks on her face. An old battered diary lay open on the dresser. He read it.

Soon the Halliwells sat together on their bed, just holding each other. What could they do, when what they were doing was the better option?

.

**So . . .that it. I know, I know – 'It's only half the length of a normal chapter! What the heck, Mercy?' Well . . . I've been debating over whether or not to make second year it's own fic, and been having trouble writing a chapter completely without year two. So now it's focused on the Halliwells this chapter. So I can get on with this, please, everybody, tell me if you want the story to go on from here or if I should post under a new fic. Please and thank you and please don't kill me,**

**- Mercy.**


	33. Chapter 33

The first day back at Hogwarts was _almost_ uneventful.

"**RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR? I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED WITH YOU! I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE! ****WHEN WE GOT THAT ****LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS! YOU COULD HAVE **_**DIED!**_** YOU COULD HAVE BEEN **_**SEEN!**_** I ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — ****YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN ENQUIRY AT WORK AND IT'S ENTIRELY **_**YOUR FAULT!**_** IF YOU PUT ANOTHER **_**TOE**_** OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."**

When her ears had stopped ringing, Angelica turned to Chris. They'd been walking into the Great Hall when the noise started, and had frozen in place while a woman's voice ranted. "So," she said, "how do you think this bodes for the school year?"

The American boy snorted, half smiling. "Great. Did you read the Lockhart books, yet?" Angelica nodded. "As soon as I got them, and my other books, too. Why?"

Chris glanced up at the luridly dressed new professor. "You realise he's a fake, right?"

Well that wasn't what she'd been expecting – she'd thought her friend was going to say he thought the man was a demon or something. "I figured he probably was – I mean, really, a spell that cures werewolves? If anyone could cast such a thing they'd make a fortune and no one that didn't want to would be one."

Chris nodded. "Okay."

Boys were strange.

Comfortable in the fact, Angelica plopped herself down at the Ravenclaw table and turned to Su Li. "So," she started, "You grew up with magic, what was that yelling thing?"

Su smiled shyly, and began explaining about Howlers in a soft tone of voice for the rest of breakfast. Apparently her mother worked with spell design and Su shared the woman's interest in it – she spent quite a bit of time explaining the mechanics in the magic. A variant of the _Sonorus_ charm applied to envelopes. It recorded voices. The side effect of turning those envelopes red – no matter what their previous colour – was something that baffled people since the spell was first introduced.

Professor Flitwick passed out course schedules as the meal ended, and Angelica immediately hurried toward the Slytherin table to compare with Chris. Their schedules were almost exactly the same as last year: It was Tuesday, so both their Houses had an extra hour before potions class.

The Gryffindors, however, had Herbology, so Chris and Angelica were left by themselves for the first class period of the day. They didn't really do much, just sat under the white birch tree by the lake and went over their summer homework together. Chris was a godsend for her Transfiguration essay, he really was.

The two of soon found themselves just lying on the grass, staring at the sky. Angelica frowned a little as she looked at the Forbidden Forest, and Chris propped himself up on one elbow. "What's up?"

"Nothing, really," Angelica said, not taking her eyes of the spot where the trees met the sky. "I just feel a bit sad, you know? The trees reach up so high, try so hard to touch the sky, but they never _quite_ manage it, do they?"

Chris breathed a small laugh. "I see what you mean," he said, leaning back onto the grass. "But it comes close. Better than not trying at all."

A pause. " . . . Yeah, I guess it is."

.

History class. Oh _happy_ day. Actually, that wasn't so bad. No worse than usual, at any rate. Binns just droned on . . .and on . . . and _on . . . _ It was what happened after class that was terrible. Angelica and Chris were walking out to the entrance hall with the other students when the new teacher, Lockhart, appeared. Wearing the girliest shade of blue Angelica had ever seen.

"Angelica!" he grinned, swooping toward the girl with a grin showing all his freakishly white teeth. "So good to see you! I was so disappointed when I didn't see the Girl Who Lived at my book signing!"

Angelica couldn't help but think that Lockhart reminded her of nothing more so than one of those annoying neon signs one saw outside bars – the kind with loud, obnoxious music and colours to match. She grimaced. "Pleasure to meet you, Professor Lockhart. Excuse me . . . "

Or not. Lockhart grabbed Angelica's hand and shook it fiercely. "I can't wait to see you in my class!" he grinned. Angelica frowned at the man; why couldn't he just _go away?_ She wanted her dinner. The rest of her class, bar Chris, had already gone ahead. That didn't even account for the slight headache she had throbbing between her eyes . . .

"EEEEK!"

Angelica flinched at the loud, high pitched sound of the new Defence professor's shriek, and hurriedly looked around for the source of his fear.

. . . "Baron?" Chris asked, looking between the blood stained ghost and the spot where Lockhart had stood before running off goddess knew where. The gaunt old ghost stared balefully between the two second years, but merely inclined his head before floating away. Angelica didn't really acknowledge him, though Chris nodded back. Her headache was throbbing even worse now – had Lockhart really needed to scream quite so loudly?

Chris shrugged all this off. "I'm hungry," he said, pulling his friend by the arm to the Great Hall. "Do you think they'll have French fries?"

"They never have 'french fries,' Chris. And they're called chips."

"French fries,"

"Chips."

"French fries,"

"Chips."

"French fries,"

"Chips."

"_French fries,"_

"_Chips_!"

"No, no, I think they're called French fries."

The Ravenclaw threw her hands in the air. "You're impossible, you realise that?"

Chris just smirked. Stupid, irritating _boys_ . . . Angelica rolled her eyes at her friend and tromped over to her usual place at the Ravenclaw table. As she began spooning peas onto her plate, the blonde first year next to her spoke up.

"I wouldn't eat the mashed potatoes, they have Hodlies in them."

Angelica blinked at the girl. "Pardon me?"

The first year smiled dreamily. "Oh that's alright, I don't mind. Hodlies are tiny centipede-like creatures that live in potatoes. The House Elves forgot to get rid of the ones in this batch. The ones down there though are fine. They taste very good with butter." Angelica looked down at where the girl was pointing and nodded.

"Thanks." She'd never heard of Hodlies before. They sounded interesting. "My name's Angelica."

"I'm Luna, but most of my dorm mates call me Loony."

"That's not fair."

Luna shrugged. "I suppose not. Do you like cranberry sauce?"

There was a long pause before Angelica said anything. "I've never had any." Luna looked scandalised, and Angelica cracked a grin. She liked this girl, she thought, as the tiny blonde dragged her down the table to the sole plate of cranberry sauce. She liked that, too.

.

Very little happened at the school until early October. Hermione, Chris and Angelica were sitting in the white birch tree by the lake when Chris suddenly looked up from his book to stare at Hermione. After a moment, the girl looked up. "Yes?" she asked self-consciously. Chris just continued to stare, his eyebrows pinched together like he was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. Hermione turned to Angelica and tugged on the sleeve of her jumper. "Do you know why Chris is staring at me?" she asked.

The darker haired girl looked up from _One Hundred Ways to Charm Friends, Enemies and Fruit._ "No . . ." she said confusedly, looking from one friend to the other. "Though I'd love to know why. Chris?"

The boy waved a hand. "Something's different about Hermione and I don't know what," he murmured distractedly, still staring at the uncomfortable Gryffindor.

Angelica, for one, had no idea what to make of that. "What, you mean she got a haircut you didn't notice?"

Chris shook his head, and opened his mouth to reply when his eyes widened and he grinned. "Your magic," he said smugly. "It's closer to the surface now, like a magical creature's is." He tilted his head, examining her less intensely now. "It's like it's pumping through you . . . in your blood?"

Hermione flushed. "It was an experiment . . . " she began, and Angelica cut her off, mind whirring frantically in worry for her friend.

"Oh, gods, what did you do?"

The other girl glowered. "_Thank you,_ Angelica for your confidence in me. Now, as I was _saying_, I checked out a few books on magical theory to take home with me over the summer, for some light reading. After I'd gone through them all a few times, I noticed something odd."

"What?"

"Nothing said that magic could only be used with a wand." Hermione was grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "In fact, wizards are some of the only people that do, and other magical races use magic all the time. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, however, until I read something about wood nymphs. It mentioned that their magic flowed in their blood, you see, and I wondered, could I do that? I've been trying to play with my magic ever since, and I just figured out how to make it flow through my bloodstream a week ago."

Hermione said this all very fast and tugged on her hair anxiously. "What do you think?"

Angelica's face split into a wide grin. "I think it's brilliant."

.

**AN/AR: Not altogether happy with this chapter . . Does it seem a bit filler-y to anyone but me? I'm trying to avoid those . . . **


	34. Chapter 34

**March/4/2012 EEPS! Sorry about the mess-up! It's 2002, not 2004 – thanks, May, for pointing it out!**

**March/13/2012 And FFNet finally lets me post! FINALLY! Anyone else been having problems with it?.  
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**AN/AR: Okay, experimenting with a new writing style this chapter, let me know what you think. It definitely won't be what I use all the time, for this story, at least, but I want to know if it works or not.**

**- Mercy**

_Oct 12_

_Hermione's teaching us (Chris, Neville, and me) how to do magic like she is. Neville's catching on really quickly, it's amazing. I'm proud of him, and he's a lot happier. I don't think spending all summer with his Gran was good for him, she doesn't seem very pleasant. Maybe he can stay with me and Prue next year, for a little while?_

_The Ravenclaw first year I met, Luna, is very . . . odd. Ravenclaw's known for turning out it's share of oddities, but she really takes the cake. I like her, though. She's really funny, and I think she may be even smarter than Hermione. Oh, I'd better hope she never reads that! Hermione, I mean. I do feel bad for her, though – when I was going down to breakfast this morning, I found her looking under all the furniture for her earrings, because her roommates hid them. It's last year for me all over again! I wonder if I should curse them, like I did Mandy? She was their ringleader, I suppose, and she's still so out of it half the time that she can't mess with me at all. The others don't seem to care enough to do anything, now._

_. . . No. If Luna needs help, she'll ask for it, or she'll do it herself._

_I'll still be watching out for her, though, in case she needs it._

_On to a less depressing subject! Sort of. Madame Pomphrey is refusing to let me have any more headache potions, she says I'll develop an immunity to them, and that I shouldn't study so hard. I'd hoped they'd go away after the summer, that it was just allergies, but I don't think so. Is it something in the food, or the castle? Maybe, but then, wouldn't other people be the same as I am?_

_Oh, never mind. I'll brew a headache potion myself if it gets bad enough, or else ask Prue to send me Tylenol. For all I know, it's some rare genetic thing that'll make my hair turn purple if I ignore it long enough._

_. . . Actually, that would be pretty cool. I hope that's it! : ) Oh, Chris is here, Lisa said he got into the Common Room and is irritating Cho Chang. I swear, that girl can't take a bloody joke . . . _

_- Ang_

_**14 October, 2002**_

_**Dear Journal,**_

_**It's me again. I've left off writing most of this year, but I wish I hadn't. I suppose I ought to write everything down now while I have the time. I don't want to forget, after all. In my last entry . . . I wrote about how I was trying to experiment with magic. Well, it worked! I honestly didn't believe it at first, but I'm ever so glad it happened.**_

_**Chris and Angelica found out a few days ago, when we were outside studying. Well, I say they did, but it was mostly Chris – not that Angelica's not clever, she's a Ravenclaw after all, but Chris . . . watches people more, I suppose. He said he noticed something different about me, and was puzzling it out loud. He found out that I'd managed to bring a little bit of my magic into my bloodstream, bringing it up to the arteries, veins, and capillaries so it can ease into my blood a little at a time.**_

_**I told them all about it, of course. How I got the idea from an article on wood nymphs, and how, now that I've . . . played, I suppose is a god word, with my magic, my senses are sharper. It makes going into the potions classroom terrible, but I found a spell 'to make all you smell as the delicate scent of a rose.' The description's idiotically flowery, but the spell works. I've taught it to the others.**_

_**. . . I'm really not sure that there's much else to say. I'm trying to do a bit of research into all the extracurricular classes that we'll have to pick in June, for third year, and Arithmancy looks fascinating . . . It's quite a bit more in-depth than what you'd think, looking at the Muggle version, which is mostly fortune telling, I think. The class at Hogwarts goes into a lot of detail about the significance of numbers, and ties in to spell theory.**_

_**The equations in some of the beginner's books actually look a lot like algebra, actually. How odd.**_

_**I'm looking forward to Defence class – Professor Lockhart is brilliant, though he doesn't seem to like showing that around people. But after all he's done in his books, he's definitely more clever than he lets on, but I suppose pretending otherwise is his choice. Maybe he does it to balance out his life, as a sort of reprieve? Mum has a few Psychology books from college, before she switched majors, maybe she'll send them to me? It would be fascinating to pick out what's going on in Professor Lockhart's head; oh I do hope one of the school owls can carry them . . . **_

_**Love,**_

_**Hermione**_

10/15/04

Angie's sick. Hermione, genius she is, is teaching all of us wandless magic. Mel's annoying Mom with her music on purpose, and Snape still refuses to grade my work if I use normal spelling. I'm buying an Oxford dictionary.

That's everything in a nutshell. I'm really proud of Mel for getting first place at the tournament. Told her she'd win.

C

_October 18, 2004_

_CHRISSY!_

_It's me, Mel, again. How's Hogwarts? Is your roommate Malfoy still a jerk, or what? Oh! I found out in French class(did you know you can take it early if you use virtual school? It's great, and Wyatt's an idiot for calling me a nerd) I found out in French class that his name means 'bad faith.' Cool, huh? I wonder if he knows that._

_Mom has me started at MS*and I'm in Dad's class. It kind of sucks – I love the class, of course, except that Dad expects me to know everything already and I DON'T, and all my classmates act weird since I'm a Halliwell and my dad's the big wig. I'm rolling my eyes here!_

_Karate's good, at least. Sensei said that I can try and break cinder blocks now, instead of just wood! I don't have to bring my own, thankfully – where do you get cinder blocks, anyway? The Home Depot? I wonder . . . Whatever. I'm helping in the little kids' class, and I think I hate orange belts, just a little. They all think they're so grown up and don't have to listen to me since I'm just a little bit older than they are._

_I don't hate orange belts. It's the eight year olds that suck. :(_

_I miss you so much! Me and Mom are going through the attic for old pictures because Wyatt made some __**STUPID**__ comment on how our family didn't seem 'real' in the pictures we have of them for Samhain. He's an idiot! We've always used those pictures, and I'm not certain we HAVE other pictures of Aunt Prue. Le sigh. Wyatt's a dummy face._

_Have your friends gotten active powers? You said Harmony (It's Harmony, right? Please say I'm right! I thought it was Hermione, like from Shakespeare, but Mom said it's Harmony. That's right, right?) had it in her line. Angie's headaches, have they gone away yet? I can send her Tylenol! Or Motrin! Maybe chocolate can help? It always makes me feel better. Are you guys celebrating together? I don't want you alone on the holidays._

_I love you._

_Melinda._

_Oct 23_

_I think I'm allergic to ghosts. My headaches are worse whenever I go near them._

_Chris gave me chocolate from Honeydukes, the shop in Hogsmeade (village near school). He paid an older student to get it for him. That was sweet. Samhain is coming up, and Hermione wants to join. I'm not sure . . . But it can't hurt, can it? It'd be worse to exclude her, I think. I'll tell Chris that, when I see him. He's not sure yet, either._

_Defence is worse than Potions. Snape's just ignoring me now. I avoid eye contact. Makes headaches worse._

_Hot chocolate. Sleep. Now. Sir Nick's mean. Headache hurts more._

_- Ang_

_**28 October, 2004**_

_**I'm terribly excited about Halloween this year. I'm celebrating Samhain with Chris and Angelica. Mum and Dad thought it a bit odd when I asked for a picture of Gran and Grandpa, considering they died when I was seven, but they sent one, at least. They didn't forget. It's really sweet . . . I think it must have been taken just before Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer, because they look so much happier than I ever saw them. Gran's actually smiling, not looking worried at Grandpa from the corner of her eye. It's sweet. They're just sitting at a park, Gran in her dress and that knit shawl of hers, and Grandpa wearing golfing pants even though they look TERRIBLE on him, and they're just . . . Happy.**_

_**It's sweet.**_

_**Love,**_

_**Hermione**_

10/30/04

Samhain Nov 1. Invited Deathday party for Sir Nicholas. Hermione and Angie are coming – have to make sure Angie has Tylenol for headache. Draco's a git. Itching powder in his shoes. No clue how it got there. Mel in another tournament. Mom sent old pictures used for family Samhain ritual: Wyatt's a dumbass. Aunt Prue's pretty, looks like Great Aunt Priscilla.

Snagging candy from 'Halloween Feast' in Great Hall before party.

C

_Oct 31_

_I think I'm going mad. I'm hearing voices, 'kill, rip, tar, kill, blood . .. ' Mrs Norris was petrified, and I passed out at the Deathday party just a few minutes before we were going to leave. Cold in the back of my mind, I keep hearing things._

_Are the ghosts following me?_

_I'm insane. Why am I insane?_

_Am I going to be locked up? I don't want to go to an asylum_

_I'm scared._

_- Ang_

.

**AN/AR: *MS stands for Magic School. I see Melinda as the type to use abbreviations a bit when writing. *offers a virtual strawberry cookie to anyone that got confused at all***

**So . . . what did everyone think of the chapter? (Hint: what is Angie's power? Look at the last journal entry.)**

**- Merc.**


	35. Chapter 35

**AN/AR: Sorry about the delay, I really am! FFNet's been having fits and is only now not logging me out when I go to upload the new chapter. - M.**

**.  
><strong>

October 31 dawned as a crisp and cool Thursday morning over Hogwarts Castle. Angelica grinned as she woke up, and hurried over to the window, throwing it open. "Hello Mum, Hello Dad," she whispered. She may not be . . . _happy_ with her parents for leaving her, but this was _their_ day, and she was just fine to set aside the resentment she usually held toward them one or two days a year. "Happy Anniversary," she added. It really helped that one of those days was the anniversary of the deaths.

She stood like that for a while, watching the sun rise in the pale grey blue sky. Eventually she snapped out of it. Angelica stepped away from the window, leaving it open to get some fresh air into the dorm, and walked over to her be to get her clothes from where she put them in the bottom drawer of her bedside table the night before. The drawer was rather deep, and admittedly needed some organization, so it wasn't altogether surprising when the pre-teen's hand brushed a small, silk-wrapped package as she picked up her robe and jeans.*

So _that_ was where her Tarot cards went!

Angelica smiled slightly to herself and pulled the deck from the drawer along with her clothes. Samhain was a good time for divination, and who knew; maybe the Goddess was trying to tell her something.

With that done, Angelica bundled her clothes in her arms, showered, and grabbed her satchel and book bag. It was time to find Chris and Hermione for breakfast.

Considering that it was only six thirty in the morning, the Great Hall was fairly busy. People below fifth year were up, for instance. Even so, it only took a second for Angelica to pick out Chris' head ducked over his plate, and she slid onto the bench next to him in a heartbeat.

"Morning," the boy said after swallowing a forkful of scrambled eggs. He twitched his lips up in a semblance of a smile. "What's up?"

Angelica rolled her eyes. "Happy New Year* to you, too, prat. I found my Tarot deck."

Chris' eyebrows went up a little as he turned back to his peanut butter covered pancakes. "Really? That's great, are you going to read them? Try the pancakes – they're blueberry chocolate chip today."

"Boys and their food," the girl snarked, but she served herself a few pancakes anyway. "And yes, actually, I am. I could read them for you, too, if you like. Do you want me to?"

The Slytherin boy glanced away from his pancake . . . sandwich . . . thing, and looked at Angelica when he answered. "Okay."

Angelica grinned. "Great!" she exclaimed happily. "I'll do it once we've finished eating."

Soon the two dark haired witches were sitting across from each other on the wide steps in front of the castle, and Angelica was busily shuffling cards while Chris looked on. One was already in between them, representing Chris as the querent. The Knight of Coins. After a moment, the girl slowed down her shuffling, and began placing the cards face down on the stone work. Once she had, she looked up at Chris, and began to read the cards.

No other students were around while Angelica read the cards for her friend, at Chris' insistence. The girl could understand that – why would anybody want everybody to know their future after all? It thankfully stayed that way until Angelica turned over the last card. Chris nodded thoughtfully, his eyes roving over the cards as he committed them to memory. Angelica watched him nervously.

"Did I do okay?" she asked. "I wasn't choppy when I read them, was I?"

Chris tore his eyes away from the spread and shook his head. "No," he said distantly, "you were fine." He seemed to come back to himself after a moment and added, "You know, my Aunt Paige reads Tarot cards. I'm not good at it, but you give her a run for her money."

Angelica blushed. "Thanks."

" . . . You're welcome."

The two sat like that for a second, until the castle doors creaked open and Hermione came into view with Neville. "There you are!" she exclaimed. "Hurry up, it's almost time for classes – what are you doing out here, anyway?"

"Nothing!" Chris and Angelica chorused, getting up and following their friend into the school. The normal day was about to begin.

The three students sat in the Great Hall for another hour or so, talking and slowly munching on toast until Neville arrived, half an hour before breakfast ended. With him came several other students, and the Gryffindor table quickly reached its usual noisy dull roar.

Conversation soon turned to the Halloween Feast that would be held that evening, and one of the Muggle-born students, Lillian Moon, sighed. "It sounds fun," she said, shrugging, "but I wish that we could trick-or-treat. I always loved doing that at home, and the sweets just aren't as good when you don't dress up for them."

"What's 'trick-or-treat'?"

"Why would you dress up for candy?"

Hermione, Lillian, Angelica, Chris and Dean stared at their wizard-raised classmates. "You've never heard of trick-or-treating?" Dean asked, incredulous. The others shook their heads, and Hermione quickly began to explain the tradition Muggle children followed. The pure- and half-blooded twelve-year-olds listened in fascination at the idea of dressing up as someone else in exchange for sweets.

"Oh, let's do that this year!" Lavender squealed, hopping in her seat. Chris hid a snicker, wondering if she realised her hair was dipping into the strawberry jam set out near her plate.

"That's brilliant!" Angewlica exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear. "We can wear our costumes to the Feast tonight!"

Watching his classmates eagerly hop up from the table to spread the word about dressing up to the other second years, Chris only felt confusion. Finally he shrugged. If they wanted to skip breakfast before Transfiguration of all classes, that was their loss.

More peanut butter pancakes for him. When did they start getting sent to the Gryffindor table, too?

.

That evening, while rain pounded on the windows of the Great Hall and the enchanted ceiling above them swirled dark blue over the floating candles, bats and Jack O' Lanterns, the teachers of Hogwarts surveyed the students with confusion. Almost every student below fifth year, and several older than that was wearing strange clothing. Some had even used colouring charms on their skin, it seemed.

"What in the world . . . "

"What are they doing?"

"Is it a prank? DO they realise they look strange?"

"I say, is there something in the food, or do they all really look like that?"

Whispers ranged up and down the Head Table until they were interrupted by a single, loud snort. "Oh, for heavens' sake," the Potions Master drawled, "they're dressing up for _Halloween._ It's a Muggle custom."

"Oh . . . "

"And, oh look, the little Potter chit and her friends have decided they're too good to participate. How very like them."

.

"Oh!" Angelica said softly, catching sight of her watch. It was nearly time to go to the Death Day Party. She and her friends had told Sir Nick over a week ago she'd attend . . . "Excuse me," she said, getting up from the Ravenclaw table, trying not to bump into anyone. "Pardon me, Need to leave . . . "

The small girl nipped over to the Slytherin table to drag Chris away from the pumpkin muffins – "They're almost better than my _Mom's,_ Angie!" – and then the two of them pulled Neville and Hermione from the Great Hall as well. Quickly as they could the four second years dashed through the candle-lit castle halls until they reached the area of the dungeon where Sir Nicholas had told them the party was being held.

The light seemed different there . . . very much like a horror film. Fitting, for a ghost party. Thin black tapers with bleached blue flames sat in their holders along the walls, casting a ghostly look on the four living children's faces. The candles did nothing to warm the place – the hall was colder the closer they drew to the party. Angelica felt her ever present headache worsen slightly. _It must be the cold . . . _Angelica shivered and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. Perhaps she ought not to have dressed as Minnie Mouse, or at least she should have worn a costume with trousers.

"Oh, this is so _exciting,_" Hermione beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her Marry Lennox* dress flounced while she moved. Angelica envied her friend her warm pettiskirts. "A death day party! You know, I doubt there are very many people living that can say they've been to one – it must be fascinating . . . "

"Yeah, Herms," Chris said, smiling slightly at her enthusiasm, "We get it. Can we go _in?_"

When the doorway came in sight, and Sir Nick floating beside it, there also came the loud sound of what must have been a thousand nails scratching at one enormous chalkboard.

"What the _heck_ is that?" Chris muttered, wincing at the noise.

"Is – maybe it's music, I don't know . . . " Angelica trailed off when Sir Nicholas floated over to them.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…"

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was much roomier than the Potions classroom, Angelica thought, watching the many – hundreds of – ghosts roaming around. It was absolutely breath-taking, besides. She didn't know a dungeon could look so nice. The hundreds of pearly-white people floating around the dance floor and scattered elsewhere around the room left a sort of misty not-fog on the ground, making it hard to see one's feet as it wisped upward and out before fading into nothingness. A platform dripping in black velvet hosted a thirty-saw orchestra, and a wrought iron chandelier hung overhead, boasting a bat motif and thousands of ancient-looking ivory candles with pale blue flames. The four stunts' breath rose in front of them, obscuring the greyscale gauze panelling the walls. It was lovely . . . and freezing. The quartet huddled closer.

"Let's look around," Angelica murmured.

"We shouldn't walk into anyone," Neville said nervously, staring with wide eyes at all the ghosts. The other three nodded, and began moving around, somehow ending up by the food table. Quickly the three of them covered their noses – it smelled terrible. Angelica muttered the rose-smelling charm.

Bedecking the long, black velvet draped buffet table were large, rotten fish laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

The four students watched in disgusted fascination as the ghost of a teenage girl passed through the table, tears running down her cheeks.

"Can you taste the food when you go through it?" Hermione asked curiously.

The ghost girl's head snapped to them instantly, and for a moment, Angelica thought she'd begin to wail again, but when she looked at them, she didn't. "Almost," the ghost said in a tiny voice, floating closer. "But not really . . . " As Myrtle came to float beside her, Angelica winced. Her headache was getting worse. She ignored the prickly pounding in favour of talking. Hermione was explaining about how Myrtle – known as Moaning Myrtle by most of the schoOl – haunted a girls' lavatory on the second floor, with Myrtle adding her two bits in every once in a while – "Bad for you? It isn't _my_ fault people with to disturb my death by _peeing!_"

Angelica watched al the ghost floating around her. Were they closer than before? No, that was just the room. It seemed much tinier, now, and was moving . . . _RIP . . . TEAR . . . KILL . . . _What was that? Who was saying it? The pounding in her head grew worse and the ghosts seemed to huddle away from the walls. The whispering in the back of her mind spiked. A ghostly hand passed through her arm.

The last thing the girl heard was Hermione's shriek before she passed out.

.

**AN/AR: For those confused by the 'jeans' bit when Angelica is finding her Tarot cards – JK Rowling originally had no plan for the students of Hogwarts to have a uniform outside their robes and hats. Any other clothing, or lack thereof, the students wore under their robes was completely at their discretion. However, this look isn't very aesthetically pleasing for a film, which is where we get the full out uniform most of us Harry Potter lovers think of. Just so you know. : )**

**Samhain is sometimes called the Witch's New Year.**

**If you didn't know who Mary Lennox is, shame on you. The Secret Garden was my second favourite book growing up! *shakes head sadly at ye poor, story-deprived people* You must read that book! Actually, read **_**anything**_** by Frances Hodgson Burnett, all her works are classic.**

**. . .And Angelica's power will be flat out given next chapter. Those of you who guessed Necromancy – close, but no cigar. Her kind actually *hate* Necromancers. – M.**


	36. Chapter 36

"Angie! Angie!"

"_Angelica!_"

"Nnnn . . . " Angelica blinked blearily up at her friends and the ghosts that were circled around her. "What . . . happened?"

"You passed out," Chris said flatly.

"Oh my God, Angelica, are you alright?" Hermione's worried face was pale. Angelica nodded, wincing a little at the movement.

"There was a voice . . . It said it smelled blood. It was going to kill . . . " That set the ghosts to murmuring. Angie ignored that, and continued to talk. It was odd, she didn't feel like she knew what she was saying, but once she said it, she knew that she meant it. How strange . . . "But nothing died, nobody died."

Neville's eyebrows knot together. "But, how do you know that? You weren't there, were you?"

Hermione shook her head quickly. "Of course she wasn't there, Neville, she's been passed out by us all this time ./ . . "

Angelica tuned out her friends' small argument. What was that the ghosts were saying? It was echoing in the back of her mind every time they said it, so it was hard to understand.

_Necroscope . . . _

_A Keogh!_

_A Keogh and a witch!_

_A Necroscope, at Hogwarts. . . . _

_A Deathspeaker at __**my**__ Death day party . . . _

_Keogh . . . _

_Necroscope . . . _

_Deathspeaker . . . _

Angelica found herself almost detached from her body, like she was watching everything she did through a window. She felt herself stand on shaky legs and walk toward the huddled ghosts, and they parted before her. Chris, Hermione and Neville called her back, but their voices were fading almost the moment she heard them . . .

Then she was standing in front of one ghost that looked different from the others. See through, but not pearly white. Tall and thin, with dark eyes and a grim face. The ghost reached out a bony finger and placed it on the bridge of Angelica's nose, right between the eyes. "And my gift rises again," her high, reedy voice said. Angelica nodded. The ghost smiled and faded before her eyes.

_I need not remain . . . _

Angie slowly blinked. The ghost faded, but she still . . felt . . her mind. The ghost – where was she? – let out a dry chuckle. _When the body dies, my child, the mind moves on. I have no need for my body to remain tied to my soul any longer. Not when there is another of my kind about._

"Angelica Potter!"

Angelica whirled on her heel to see Hermione, he face strained, striding through the ghosts that filled the hall. In the next moment, the bushy haired girl had her arms wrapped tight around her, saying, "Don't you ever scare me like that again! What is going _on?_"

Angelica pulled back from the hug, and saw to her shock that Hermione was _crying_. She placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I didn't - " she began. "I'm not . . . " She trailed off again, not sure what to say. She settled for avoiding the issue for now. Until she figured it out herself. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. Come one, let's go . . . " She wrapped an arm around the older girl's shoulders, and the two of them walked out of the dungeon, with Chris and Neville following behind them.

.

When Angelica reached the Ravenclaw Common Room that evening, it was chaos. People were firing questions rapidly at one another, and were squishing together fearfully, watching the walls with terror. One girl – Angelica couldn't see who – shrieked when Angelica opened the door and came in. Professor Flitwick stood on a table in the middle of it all, passing out hot chocolates to everyone. He appeared to be trying to calm them all.

_What the hell?_

Angie looked around the room in confusion, wondering what was going on. She had no chance to ask anyone before Luna ran into her, the younger girl's thin arms trapping Angelica's by her side. "Oh, thank Diana you're safe!" The girl said quietly, burying her head in Angelica's shoulder.

The older Ravenclaw nodded, and patted her friend's back as much as she could with her upper arms locked to her side by the first year. "What – what happened?" she asked quietly, taking in the obvious panic filling all the students around them.

Luna looked up at Angie but didn't let her go. "After the feast, everyone was leaving and we found – we found Mister Filch's cat. She was s stiff, and tied to a torch by her tail. Everyone said she'd died, but I don't think she has . . . " The diminutive blonde's hold on Angelica tightened, and Angelica found herself nodding.

"She didn't die, Luna," she told the other girl quietly, "I know she didn't. Come on, let's get you some chocolate and we can both sleep in my bed, alright?"

The first year nodded quietly, finally letting Angelica go, only holding her hand, now. When they reached Angelica's dorm, the two sat across from each other under the moonlight, sipping their drinks silently. The silence was too heavy for Angelica, and she spoke up. "You know, I always wondered what it must be like to have a sister. Do you have any siblings?"

Luna shook her head. "Not any longer," she said softly, stirring her hot chocolate with a finger "I was going to have a younger brother, but Mummy liked to experiment with spell and potions and things, and one day there was an accident. I was nine then." Luna was looking out the window now, and Angelica marvelled at how the girl was able to talk about it so easily. The blonde girl shrugged. "I still visit her and Aelius sometimes, in the cemetery in the village. Daddy always says that they have gone to the Elysian Fields now, because of all the good Mummy did while she was alive, and that we should be glad for them. I am." She turned her gaze toward Angelica. "I think we should try and sleep now. It's rather late, and neither of us have any more hot chocolate."

Angelica nodded and set her and Luna's mugs on the bedside table before pulling back the duvet and snuggling under it. Luna joined her, and soon the two drifted asleep. _This must be what it's like to have a sister,_ Angelica thought firmly just before nodding off. _It must be._

.

The next morning dawned all too soon for Angelica's taste. Still, the sun was rising, and it was Samhain. She slid out from under the sheets, carefully moving so as not to wake Luna. She grabbed her clothes from her wardrobe and ran to shower up.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, dressed and towelling off her hair, Luna had woken up and gone back to her dorm room. Angelica grabbed her satchel and book bag, then headed down to the Great Hall.

She half-heartedly hoped there would be pudding. Or ice cream.

There wasn't. Instead, there was a notice charmed onto on of the doors to the Great Hall, and the crowd of people trying to see the parchment completely blocked the open door. What was going on? Angelica pushed her way through the throng, and only found herself more confused when she read the announcement.

_Friday, November 1__st__, 2002:_

_All classes are suspended while  
>the Petrification of last night is<br>looked into by the Hogwarts Staff.  
>All students are to eat and spend<br>the day in either their House area  
>or in the school Library. Classes<br>resume on Monday, November  
>4<em>_th__, 2002. Students shall behave._

_- Professor M. McGonagall  
>Deputy Headmistress<em>

This must be bad. Angelica finally pushed her way into the Great Hall, where there was only one topic of discussion: What Petrified Mrs. Norris, and how bad it must be to distract the teachers. Angelica silently felt glad she'd missed all the excitement: her own had been more than enough.

She didn't see her friends at lunch. Luna was . . . Somewhere, doing the gods only knew what, and knowing Hermione and Chris, they'd have gone to the Library, dragging Neville with them. Decided, Angelica wrapped a few rolls up in a serviette, placed them in her satchel, and left the Hall for the Library.

Her friends were there. Hermione's hair was valiantly attempting(and almost succeeding) to escape the harsh ponytail the girl had fought it into, and both she and Neville were searching through a large stack of books and papers. Chris wasn't at the table with them, but judging by the half-tucked chair with his jacket and book bag hanging off the back, he wasn't very far. Angelica took a deep breath and walked over, trying to figure out an explanation for the night before.

Neville saw her first, and his face lit up. "Angelica!" he said happily, standing up. "We wondered where you were. We're trying to figure out what made you faint last night. You went all wonky."

His voice was cheerful, but his smile was betrayed by the worry creased around his eyes. Angelica smiled weakly. "Is that what you've been doing?" she asked. "Here, let me help." She sat down on one of the wooden chairs and pulled a book toward her. _The Ghostly Peoples and the Effectes of such on Living Beings_ it read in hand-written letters. Angelica quirked an eyebrow. Odd title. "Say," she asked, hoping she sounded casual, "Have you ever heard of a Necroscope?"

Neville dropped his book. "Necroscopes?" he asked incredulously. "You mean Deathspeakers? Yeah, I suppose . . . My Gran told me stories about them when I was younger, said they were halfway between our world and the next. Why do you - oh . . . " The podgy boy's eyes grew wide, and he stared at Angelica with a strange mix of shock and incredulity. Hermione looked confused from behind her book.

"What's a 'dead speaker?'" she asked.

Neville blinked. "They can contact people from the Afterlife," he said slowly, as if completely thrown by knowing something Hermione didn't. "Some people say they can be possessed by the spirits of the dead, but they're just fairy tales." He turned back to Angelica. "I mean, I thought they were. They are, aren't they? But I guess witchcraft is a myth two, but Chris and Hermione's cousin have it, and so does your guardian . . . "

Angelica shrugged. "I honestly don't know," she said. "But that was one of the things the ghosts were calling me, after I fainted. They kept saying it over again. 'Keogh.' 'Necroscope.' 'Deathspeaker.' Do you know exactly what they do?" She looked around. "And where's Chris?"

Neville and Hermione both shrugged. "I don't know," Hermione said, and the same time Neville said, "That's all Gran ever told me."

The three of them sat in a sort of awkward silence until Chris appeared form between whatever shelves he'd been searching. He waved at Angelica. "So," he said, "I think I found a book on Necroscopes . . . "

"How did you - "

Chris cut Hermione off. "I eavesdropped. Anyway, here you go." He handed Angelica the book, already open, and she read the passage he pointed to out loud to her friends.

" '_Of all the wild talents known to magic, Necroscopes are not the most rare, but are certainly the most strange. Little can be said about them but that their goal, they have said throughout the centuries, is to serve those passed and to continue their works. Some have claimed they speak to the dead telepathically and may be possessed by them if they choose, but no-one has ever been able to prove these claims, and no Necroscope has ever admitted to it. It may be noted, however, that Necroscopes known to history have all been said to learn things uncommonly quickly. This has long been attributed to them taking the knowledge of the departed, but like most legends surrounding Necroscopes, cannot be proven. Typically known to be of foul temper and untrusting of those with hearts that continue to beat, Necroscopes have been known to come into their powers anywhere from birth to old age, with no obvious difference in power between them. The gift is hereditary, like most wild talents, but has a habit of submerging itself every few generations. Necroscopes are dangerous to face, and have been known to raie those long since gone from their graves to protect them. Beware all who should take them as an enemy or a friend._' "

Angelica stared at the page and the (rather crude) drawing at the bottom of the page, showing an oddly distorted, reedy witch raising her arms in a cemetery, with people popping out of graves with them. Tiny dotted threads connected her head to the gravestones. She closed the book. It was entitled _Mythical and Rare Peoples of Days Since Past._

"So I'm a legend," she said flatly.

"Well . . . " Chris said teasingly. "There is that who 'Girl Who Lived-'"

"Shut up."

He raised his hands placating. Angelica glowered before turning back to their other friends.

"So who'd like to go cemetery hunting with me?" she asked sarcastically. "I'm sure talking to headstones will be lovely."

While Neville and Hermione looked slightly sick, Angelica studiously ignored Chris' snickering beside her.

.

**AN/AR: So, if I didn't make it clear enough, Angie's a Necroscope. Also called a Keogh. Also called a Deathspeaker. Yes I totally nicked the power and the first two names for it from Brian Lumley and his **_**Necroscope **_**book series. No, I'm probably not going to include any of the characters, the E-Branch, or Harry Keogh. I might. Like, after **_**fourth or fifth year at best.**_** Sorry anyone that got the reference! *Shrugs* Props to ChelleyBean for writing the fan fiction that introduced me to the series - if anyone can get a hold of her, beg her to update **_**Keogh**_**. ****Please****.**

**Being a Necroscope enables Angelica to speak to dead people. Not just ghosts, but anyone that has EVER died. She can voluntarily let them take over her body, and kick them out in two seconds flat if she likes because hey, it's **_**her**_** body.**

**Also, what did everyone think of the start of the chapter? I tried to make everything seem a bit hazy, to reflect Angie's state then, but I'm not sure how well it read . . . Tell me if I pulled it off, pretty please?**

**Many thanks to you lovely readers, M.**


	37. Chapter 37

**AN/AR: SO, who's pleased that I included the full ritual this time? *gnaws lips in worry* Yes, it's pretty much the entire chapter . . . Hope no-one minds? You'll find out about Hermione's response to everything next chapter, along with a look at a certain diary writer . . . . *whistles***

**M.**

_**.**_

"_So who'd like to go cemetery hunting with me?" she asked sarcastically. "I'm sure talking to headstones will be lovely."_

_While Neville and Hermione looked slightly sick, Angelica studiously ignored Chris' snickering beside her._

The rest of the day, thankfully, passed normally. Neville seemed content to just accept Angelica's new power, and Hermione to read about it later. They spent the afternoon casually flipping through textbooks in the library and losing Chris' Muggle glue (which Neville was fascinated by – apparently wizards just stuck to sticking charms) every few minutes while they tried to build an ancestor tree. Chris had apparently made one with his sister a few years prior, and was now using it as a teaching tool with Hermione. Angelica ended up with Elmer's all over her fingers after a few minutes, at which point Chris told her to keep away from his tree and try to pull the glue off so her hands weren't so much mittens any longer.

Smiling, the twelve-year-old witch was content to watch her friends at work. In Chris and Hermione's case it was work, anyway. Neville was mostly making shapes with the glue on parchment and then pulling it up again, making sounds of shock whenever he did or when he stuck his hand to something and had to pull to get away.

The ancestor tree was pretty, Angelica thought. Chris had found a gnarled old branch on the castle grounds, with loads of twigs branching off. It looked like a little sapling. He and Hermione were gluing pieces of wire to the ends of the twigs, making them hang down and bend up again. They'd be holding the pictures and names of dead family members later. It was sweet.

Very quickly evening came, and Neville said his good-byes and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Hermione went with him to get a bit of food for the three of them, and Chris and Angelica went to gather the things they'd need for the ritual. They weren't holding it in the same place as last year, unfortunately, as the tower was now being used as a storage area and there wasn't any room now.

That said, there was a very peaceful closed off balcony near it that was very pretty, overlooking the lake. Angelica ran up to Ravenclaw tower to grab her altar box, a package of taper candles and an altar cloth Prue had sent her for the holiday; by the time she came down to the balcony, Chris has found a wooden crate some place or other and set it up. The ancestor tree was standing nearby as the boy bent over his own case – a leather encased one with a triquetra on it – and pulling out a few things at a time.

Angelica smothered a laugh; he was so engrossed he probably hadn't even noticed her come in. She walked over to the makeshift altar and spread the cloth over it. It was very . . . well matched, the girl thought. It was a plain white cotton with black lace over the top. She had helped Prue pick both out when she was nine, and she was happy to be able to use it with her friends.

In a few minutes, Angelica had set her pieces up on the altar, and Chris still hadn't noticed she was there. He'd stopped rummaging through his box, and was very still. Curious, Angelica stepped over to him and looked over his shoulder. It was . . . a picture of Prue? What in the world?

"Chris?"

The boy in question jumped up, clutching the picture tightly in his hand as he eyed her in surprise. "Oh,. Angie," he said in a rush, "I . . . "

Angelica raised her eyebrows. "You?" She nodded to the photograph in his hand. "Where did you get that photograph? I've never seen it before." _Why do you have my guardian's likeness_ was left unsaid. Chris glanced between her and the photo, and Angelica was actually surprised to see honest confusion on his face. She hadn't seen the look on him before, not to that extent.

Finally, Chris stopped and, holding the photo in both hands, said frankly, "Honestly? I don't know. This is my aunt."

"No . . .that's _my _guardian. That's Miss Trudoe."

"You think I don't know that?" the boy said frustratedly. "that doesn't change that it's _my aunt_. This is the picture my family's used at Samhain every year that I can remember. They'd still be using it if Wyatt wasn't an idiot . . . " He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, frustrated sigh. "You know what? Let's drop it, okay? This is a night to honour family, not question it. Let's just set up the altar, get through all of this before curfew, and _then_ we can send angry and confused letters to Prue, okay?"

Angelica nodded. She didn't want to fight, and Chris was right. This wasn't the night to start micro analysing their relatives. It was one to remember and honour them, so that was what they'd do.

They'd micro analyse at a minute past midnight, when the day was officially over.

Chris and Angelica worked in a half comfortable silence for the next ten minutes or so until Hermione came, bearing a goblet of cider and food on golden dessert plates. She smiled brightly at her two friends and set her things down by the altar. "What can I do to help?" she asked.

The enthusiasm was practically bubbling off her, and Angelica couldn't bother to hide a smile at the sight. Hermione was so . . . bright. Happy. It made Angelica happy to be her friend, so that she could share in it. She pointed out the ancestor tree. "For now, just set your photos in the tree, and then set it in the back centre of the altar. While you do that, I'll make sure we have everything, and Chris will cleanse the area. You read through the ritual already, right? Do you have any questions?"

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, I have, and no, not any that I can think of at the moment."

"Well of course not, you're a genius."

Both girls rolled their eyes. "Shut up, Chris," they chorused.

With that, Angelica examined the altar critically, making sure they had everything. The (roughly) square altar was almost entirely set up, now: the maroon God candle sat at the back left in a Jack O' Lantern candle holder with the silver-painted Goddess candle being held in the same opposite it on the right. Chris had set out a small ceramic dish with cone incense by the athame in the middle left, and in front of those were the matches. On the right sat an apple and in the front centre was the cauldron with a black candle inside it, and a white candle in front of that. Noticing the empty spaces, Angelica placed the goblet of cider on the front left and the two plates of food in the middle centre. She did a quick run over once more and . . . done. Everything was set out. "Got everything, Hermione?"

The bushy-haired girl looked up. "Nearly; I just have to put up this picture: I accidentally knocked it off . . . "

Angelica sniggered. "No problem," she smiled. "Chris?"

"Waiting," the boy said from where he sat cross-legged by the altar boxes. Angelica rolled her eyes at him. "You're such an arse."

"Angelica, language!"

"Yes, Hermione . . . Shut up, Chris."

"Uh, _no._"

_Boys_. Angelica was so glad she wasn't born one: who knew how she'd have turned out?

*After a moment, the three second years were kneeling in front of the altar, the circle cast, and Angelica lit the Goddess candle. "Dark Mother, ruler of the night, Goddess of rebirth, Hear and look upon your children this evening as we honour you and your realm. We come humbly before you, asking for your blessing and favour, asking that you lift the Veil between here and the afterlife, that we may commune with our ancestors in this time-out-of-time."

Angelica shook the match out, and as the candle flame rose, Chris struck his own match, and lit the God candle and said in a soft voice, "Dark Father, ancient God of death, Lord of the Underworld, Hear and look upon your children this evening as we honour you and your realm. We come before you and you Lady, asking for your blessing and favour, asking that as the Veil between here and the afterlife is lifted, you stand guard over our ancestors as they journey to be with us this night."

The God candle's flame, too, rose, as Hermione nervously took the apple and athame from the altar and said in a shaky voice, "Tonight as the barrier between the worlds grows thin, Spirits known and unknown walk with us, once again. They are our family, friends, and foes, Pets and wildlife, fishes and crows. We welcome them now to be with us, In perfect love and perfect trust."

By the end of the verse the girl's voice was much stronger, and her hands didn't shake at all when she halved the apple to show the pentagram at its core. She cut off three pieces, and Angelica and Chris each took one, popping them in their mouths and swallowing while their friend did the same and placed the apple halves on either side of the cauldron.

Now it was Angelica's turn, and she held a hand over the plates of food, the Feast for the Dead, and the Feast for the Living, and began the blessing. "Half this feast will lay on the castle all night, As in three windows candles will burn bright. They'll help our loved ones find their way As they travel this eve, through the night until day. Bless our offer please Lady and Lord, Of breads and fruits, greens and gourd. Blessed be too that which the living shall eat, When the night is done, at the Simple Feast."

It was peaceful for some time until Chris lit the black candle in the cauldron. "Dark Mother," he said, "Your cauldron is a well of death and rebirth. Dark Father, your sword both protects and annaihilates. Hear us now as the past year slowly dies and is reborn again. Today the last day og the harvest is complete. This symbolic harvest is of our thought-seeds, Planted and nurtured this past year. May the good come to pass and the ill be cast aside. With your divine guidance and protection, As we step into the New Year, May we have good health, prosperity, and happiness."

Hermione lit the white candle with the black one's flame, saying, "As the New Year is born, we are all reborn With new hopes and dreams. Guide us in the future as in the past. Give us strength and courage, knowledge and fulfilment, Assist us as we attempt to achieve out goals." She pinched out the black candle and replaced it with the white one in the cauldron. The three youths looked into the candle flame for a while, thinking the goals they had for the upcoming year.

"Every beginning has an ending," Angelica said at last, "And every ending has a beginning. In Life is Death, and in Death is Life. Watch over me, my loved ones, and all of my Brothers and Sisters, here and departed, Who, tonight, are joined together again For fellowship and celebration. Bless us all as we light our bonfires, our hearth fires, And the eternal fires within our hearts. Guide us and protect us. Tonight and throughout the coming year, Blessed Be, Blessed Be!"

Angelica, Hermione and Chris clasped hands, and they all held them forward, embracing their departed family and bringing them closer to them. They stayed like that for a while, basking happily in the glow of it all, but all things came to an end, and soon they opened their eyes – Angelica blinked when she did, as she didn't remember even closing them – and ate their Simple Feast of bread rolls, pears, and broccoli. They released the circle, and cleaned up their things. Angelica pulled three tapers from the package of candles she brought, and Chris and Hermione each took one, the three of them lighting them up from the white candle. They would be set in their windows that evening, burning brightly until dawn.

All was well in their world.

.

**AN/AR: *The ritual was adapted from Akasha's on wicca . com, and I couldn't be more thankful that she put it up: it fits perfectly, I think.**

**- Mercy.**


	38. Chapter 38

**AN/AR: Hey, all, here's the update – to all that I told it would be out sooner, I am so**_** so**_** sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. Virtual cookie? They're peanut butter . . . *holds out silver platter enticingly* Look, there's even LSD sprinkles!**

**.**

_All was well in their world_

The next day was a Saturday, and Angelica took the opportunity to drag Hermione from the Gryffindor Common Room just after waking up. It hadn't taken all too long to find the place – she only had to follow the sound of rambunctious shouting on the way to breakfast – and getting someone to let her in was even simpler.

It was _amazing_ what flirting with a couple of third years got, really, it was.

Hermione was a mass of frizzy curls knotted under thick red felt. Angelica was slightly surprised to find out that the girl snored – not loudly, but still, a definite, soft snore. The dark haired preteen hid a smile behind her hand at the revelation before pouncing.

"WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP! _HERRRR_-MIONE! _WAKE UP!_" she shouted, tickling at her friend's neck and sides. Hermione awoke with a shriek.

"_Angelica Potter!_" the girl roared. "How are you even in here?"

Said Ravenclaw fell back onto the end of the bed with a wide happy grin on her face. "Good morning," she sing-songed, waving her fingers hello. "How are you? I'm lovely: I got the password and found put where the Gryffindor Tower was all before breakfast."

Hermione glowered darkly and threw back her covers with a snap of the fabric. "Tired," she snapped, getting up. Odd, Hermione had never struck Angelica as the type to wear a large tee shirt to bed. Then again, she wouldn't have thought the girl snored, either, so Angelica just filed this information away. Amazing what you learned about people when you broke into their dorm rooms.

Angelica was silent until Hermione had finished changing into her skirt, shorts and sweater. Once she had, the smaller girl dragged the larger out of Gryffindor Tower and into the Great Hall to eat.

"So," she said slowly a short while later, stabbing at her scrambled eggs. "What did you think of the ritual?" Angelica glanced at Hermione quickly. The girl looked . . . a little flustered, actually.

"Well," Hermione said, pulling at her bread roll, "It was fun, and I really liked all the symbolism and I enjoyed spending time with you . . . "

Hermione trailed off, and Angelica felt her heart sink a little. "There's a 'but' coming," she asked, "isn't there?"

The Gryffindor nodded self-consciously. "I'm happy to have tried it," she said, "don't think I didn't. It's just, I suppose I wasn't really expecting it. It was . . . a rush, I suppose you could call it, I could feel the energy, the magic, around us and going through me, but . . .I'm so sorry Angelica, honestly it scared me." Hermione gnawed on her lower lip. "You don't mind, do you?"

Angelica was silent for a long moment before answering, thinking over her friend's words. "I . . . I can see what you mean, I think. And it _is_ your decision." She smiled slightly, glad that Hermione at least relaxed. What, had the girl though Angelica wouldn't want to be her friend anymore? "It's your choice, and I'm glad you told me." Angelica grabbed a fruit from the bowl in the centre of the table and held it out to her friend. "Apple?"

And everything was normal again. Hermione took the apple with a grin and Angelica ate most of the scrambled eggs from the platter in front of her. Chris and Neville appeared some time later, and they spent the morning chatting about classes and their plans for the day. They would be going out to the birch tree by the lake and experimenting again. Neville had found that, now that Hermione had shown them how to bring their magic outward, talking to plants actually _did_ make them grow faster. You could see them perk up and grow a few centimetres, he said.

The rest of the week past in relative peace. Relative because, while everyone went through their days following the same routine as ever, it seemed that they all looked over their shoulders in worry, and murmurs of the Chamber filled the air.

"I'm worried about it," Hermione admitted one day as she, Chris, Neville and Angelica walked to History of Magic class. "I mean, who knows what's causing it all? Or who?" The brunette searched her friends' faces anxiously. "I can't find anything about it in the Library about it, but I _know_ that I've heard of it before. I think it might have been in my copy of 'Hogwarts, A History,' but I had to leave that at home to be able to fit all of my Defence books."

Hermione's hair seemed to get even frizzier when she was upset, Angelica noticed. Chris slung an arm around her shoulders reassuringly and grinned. "Don't worry about it," he said seriously. "I'll orb over to your house after classes are out and bring it back with me. At the end of the year we'll just throw your Lockhart books in a fire and you won't have to worry about space."

That last part wasn't exactly the right thing to say. "Christopher Halliwell!" Hermione yelped, shrugging his arm off of her and swatting his side. "How can you say that about a book?"

Well, Angelica thought, at least she wasn't going on about them being _Lockhart's_ books. The man really was an idiot, no matter what he published.

When Chris got back twenty minutes after classes let out, the four of them headed up to one of the many half deserted tyowers in the castle and watched in plain fascination while the Halliewll boy used his powers to flick through the book.

"Searching . . . searching . . . Chamber of Secrets, Heir . . . " he murmured, laying on his stomach and waving his hand in lazy circles over the pages.

Angelica shook her head. "That is _so_ more useful than talking to ghosts," she said ruefully. Chris smirked smugly and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Aw, don't hate me," he said. "Oh, here it is. _'A tale nearly as old as the castle it resides in, the legendary Chamber of Secrets is said to have been created by Salazar Slytherin,'_ blah, blah, blah, hate on the normal people . . . "

"Hey!" Neville and Angelica squawked unhappily. Chris rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored them.

" had a snit fit, left and '_ . . promising his revenge, it is told, Slytherin left the castle with the threat that someday his heir would return to the castle and unleash a terrible monster, purging the castle of those deemed unfit to learn magic. His heir alone would be able to open the Chamber and control what was found within. The legend has risen and fallen in popularity throughout the centuries, and many searches of Hogwarts castle have been held to find such a place. It has never been accessed, and, it appears, is no more real than a dream.._'" Chris eyed the book suspiciously before looking around at his friends. "Why do I get the feeling Slytherin was a warlock?"

Angelica heaved a sigh and snatched the book from him, ignoring Hermione's squeal of protest at how she was handling the thing – she was a Ravenclaw, she knew how to snatch a book, for goddess' sake. It was practically Bookwork 101 in her House. "Because you're paranoid," she said flatly, "and either way, warlock's aren't immortal, so it doesn't matter. What matters is if his 'heir' is or not, or if it's just a hoax."

The four of them were rather silent after that.

.

_Knock, knock. Knock, knock._

"Come in."

Angelica huffed slightly before striding into the Headmaster's office. _Again._ "Yes, Headmaster?" she asked politely, sitting down on the squishy chair in front of his desks. She didn't know they made gold fabric until she saw it. Real gold.

Dumbledore smiled happily and held out a porcelain dish. "Lemon drop?" he asked. Angelica shook her head. "I should have expected it. Still, an old man can hope. My dear, do you know why I've asked you here?"

Angelica quirked an eyebrow. No, but he wasn't going to tell, like he hadn't every time he'd called her up this year. Might as well guess, then. Maybe something plausible this time. Fourth one's the charm. "Because . . . you want to send me to a secret government facility to dissect me and find out what makes a witch-witch tick?" It could happen . . . in a bad drama film.

The Headmaster's lemon drop fell out of his mouth and onto his beard, his lips shaping into a perfect, comical 'o' shape. "Miss Potter, why would I want to send you to the Department of Mysteries?"

Angelica's eyes bugged out. "They have a place that _does_ that?" she squeaked. She pressed into the back of her chair. "Oh, God and _Goddess!_"

Professor Dumbledore slightly in his place behind his desk and reached out a hand to calm her. "Miss Potter," he said, "the Department of Mysteries does not experiment on living beings, but they _do_ research nearly everything else. They study time and what creates magic. Divination, prophecy, life and death. I didn't mean you were in any danger from them. I merely wished to inquire about your home life."

Well if _that_ didn't throw Angelica for a loop. "My bloody _home life?_" she asked incredulously. "You have to be kidding me. Why weren't you asking me this last year?"

. . . That was actually a _really_ good question, now that she thought about it.

Dumbledore seemed to take a steadying breath before speaking again. "I saw no reason to look into it last year, Miss Potter," he said in a soft voice,. It reminded Angelica of the way a zookeeper at the London Zoo had talked to an owl when showing it to her and her classmates on a field trip.

"However," he continued, "your school records this year show that you have suddenly changed guardians, and I admit that it worries me. We have had similar situations happen before, of course, but generally there is some months' notice. I merely wonder if your new place of residence is safe, my dear."

Un. Be. Lievable. "Professor," Angelica said in the calmest tone she could muster. "Thank you for your concern, but I can tell you right now I am safer at my new home than I ever was with my mother's relatives. May I please go now? Dinner's nearly over, and I haven't eaten yet: I had to look up a few things in the Library for my Charms essay. Did you know that Runes can be incorporated to hold charms on an object? Professor Flitwick said that you don't even need to concentrate on holding the spell, that way."

The aged Head Teacher nodded mutely, and Angelica fled. Why couldn't he have just gotten this out of the way when he first called her to his office in September? What next, checking her into the Hospital Wing to check for bruises? It was madness. Angelica stomped all the way to the Great Hall, and completely ignored it when Luna told her not to mind the wrackspurts.


	39. Chapter 39

**AN/AR: At least now you know I didn't die, right? I am so, so sorry . . . :-(**

**To recap, last chapter Angie discovered flirting with third years gets you into Gryffindor Tower, Hermione doesn't think witchcraft's for her, Chris think Lockhart's an idiot and Hermione half-heartedly protests, they learn about the Chamber of Secrets legend, and Dumbledore's an idiot that is nosing into Angie's new living arrangements and scared her with the DoM. That abut sums it up, yeah?**

***Note, parts of this chapter were taken from the Chapter of JK Rowling's 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' titled 'The Duelling Club.' If you recognise it, I don't own it. Capiche(Is that how you even spell that word)?**

Time passed quickly as the days grew shorter – Angelica wouldn't have thought it, but they did. Nothing of any real interest happened until nearly two weeks after Halloween.

If only it hadn't.

Colin Creevey, a first year Ravenclaw, was found petrified the day after the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match.. Within hours, the school was in a panic, and at every turn of the corridor between classes a student could be found peddling amulets and protective talismans. Rumours flew about who the Heir could be, but no one could seem to agree on who it was.

The whole school seemed to be on edge, nervous and scared . . . Students travelled in large packs, and no one went out alone anymore. Angelica felt helpless. She should have been able to help Colin, at least. She was a witch, she was supposed to protect innocents. As it was, she'd drawn a rough map of each floor of the castle as best she could, but when she used it to scry for evil, she didn't come up with anything. It was maddening.

It took a week and a half for Angelica to stop looking for whatever had attacked Mrs Norris and Colin, and only then because Chris pulled her away from it. Still, she felt that she ought to do _something_, for her friends at the very least.

So she did. She knew that protection spells didn't tend to work very well, so she didn't bother with trying that. Instead, she wrote to Prue asking for some leather cord and a few iron washers. The older woman sent them without any question, and Angelica set to work. It was an idea she'd toyed with before, but had never gotten around to making – shield bracelets. Unlike the general protection charm, they would (hopefully) target a specific threat, and keep it from affecting the wearer. All she needed was some leather, the iron washers, and a bit of the owner's hair.

Angelica took it as a sign of how used to her her friends were that they each handed over a few strands without any questions whatsoever.

That lasted until she handed them the bracelets. The only surprise was that Chris beat Hermione at asking something first..

"So . . . " he drawled, holding up the bracelet, as of yet untied. The iron washer dangled from the end and shone dully. "What exactly is this?" he asked.

Angelica brushed a loose strand of hair back and glanced at the ground nervously. "Well, for the most part, I suppoe you'd call it an experiment. Like Hermione's blood-magic-thingy."

"Hey!"

"I meant it as a compliment, Hermione. Anyway, Chris, you at least know that protection spells, erm–"

"–Are a bust? A scam? Baloney?" the American offered up helpfully.

Angelica rolled her eyes. "Let's go with that, yes. Well, they generally fail because they protect from, well, everything. So, I was thinking – if I bind it to an object and link it to something specific, then it can protect against that one thing perfectly. At the same time, I wanted to make absolutely sure it would work, so I bound it to the owner – that's why I took a few hairs from each of you. Any questions?"

Hermione had one. "Angelica? What will happen if it doesn't work like you think it will? And why does it have a washer on it? And the weaving? Wouldn't it be simpler to just braid it?"

The younger girl shrugged. "It'll fails spectacularly and you'll be petrified. It's not like it'll turn you green and purple or anything."

Chris snorted. "Yeah, _that's_ comforting."

"Shut up Chris. Hermione, it's got the iron washer on it because A.) iron is a protective metal, and B.) the washer makes a continuous circle, mirroring the bracelet's continual defence of the wearer. It's weaved like that because it's stronger that way, and holds on to the washer better than a braid would. Plus, any harmful magic trying to get at you would have to get through all the woven cord, then the iron washer, _then_ to you. It wouldn't be able to do it. Even if it got close, likely it would just go for the hair woven in."

Hermione inspected the bracelet for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright, then. Can I out it on, now?"

"I'll do it," Angelica smiled. She took the other girl's wrist and tied the bracelet around it tightly. "Shielding iron, leather, and weave, Protection from what no-one sees. When that force comes ever near, It will not affect the wearer here." The bracelet let up a small white glow as Angelica finished tying off the last knot.

Hermione grinned a little at the display of magic, and Angelica moved on to tie on the boys' bracelets, silently thanking pure-blood culture and Chris' obstinate refusal to get a haircut, despite his mum's wheedling, for their having long enough hair to weave into the bracelet without much of a problem.

So, while there was still the general worry that came hand in hand with an evil creature living in your school, Angelica felt at least a little bit safer, now that her friends were somewhat protected. Sadly, the same couldn't be said for the rest of the castle . . . Excluding Lockhart, of course. The man was an utter idiot. Thankfully, he seemed content to merely preen and boast loudly during lessons. Liberal use of a 'Notice Me Not' charm she'd found in an older student's text book kept him from calling on her, at least, so the alleged class was a nice chance to nap.

Early December brought two things for the students of Hogwarts. First, Professor McGonagall began collecting the names of the students going home for the holidays – next to no-one was staying this year. After all, if the monster could get at them when the castle had nearly a thousand people in it, who's to say what it might do when there were just a handful of them about? Even those who normally stayed at the castle over the holidays either grinned and bore going home, or else made plans to stay with friends.

The other event of note was the opening of the Duelling Club. There were posters tacked up all over the school, in the common rooms, and on the message board in the Entrance Hall. The castle was humming in anticipation – they would be learning to protect themselves, perfect! Speculation rampaged as to who the teacher was leading it. So far as Angelica knew, most of her House thought it was Professor Flitwick, since he was a master duelist. He had retired from the international circuits to teach years ago, but he still competed in England.

The Slytherins, meanwhile, thought that Snape would be leading, since he was supposed to be rather clever and even had invented a few hexes. The Gryffindors, Hermione and Neville, both agreed, had yet to speculate, apparently not realising that there would even BE a teacher leading the club, while Susan Bones, from what Angelica was able to glean from the girl during Astronomy, said the Hufflepuffs frankly didn't care, They just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.

Hufflepuffs, Angelica thought, were really, really nice.

All too slowly, the day arrived. At eight o'clock the doors to the Great Hall opened, and it was entirely different. The usual House tables were with their long benches, pushed against the two side walls, and in the centre of the room was a great raised platform with giant moons on the top. As Angelica drew closer, she found that the thing was nearly as tall as she was – the bottom of her nose just barely topped the platform; there might have been a millimetre between them, at most.

Angelica felt very, very short.

Within moments, the annoying platform was surrounded by what seemed to be the entirety of the Hogwarts student body – the only ones missing, so far as Angelica could tell, were a few of the first years and some older students, likely studying for their OWLs and NEWTs. As it was, Angelica, Chris, Hermione and Neville were already squashed together as everyone pressed in, trying to get a closer look. They all had their wands gripped tightly in hand, eager looks on their faces. Clutching her own wand, Angelica felt much the same – this could be fun.

"I wonder who will be teaching us?" Hermione asked, looking around eagerly at their chattering classmates. "Angelica, you said Professor Flitwick was a duelling champion, didn't you? Maybe it will be him?"

Angelica shrugged. "I dunno. Chris mentioned Snape."

The boy in question shrugged when the two girls looked over at him. "I don't care who it is, I just want to keep myself alive until the end of the year."

Neville rolled his eyes at him. "Just so long as it isn't . . . Oh, no." Neville's eyes were the size of saucers, and he stared at the stage in a sort of mute horror that had the other three's eyes quickly darting over to the source to see see what had happened.

Three mouths dropped as one, and Angelica let out a soft groan. No . . .

Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum. He looked like a a Ken doll in a dress, actually. Beside him stood a sour-looking (more so than usual, at any rate) Snape, his usual black teaching robes standing in stark contrast.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"

"I wish I were deaf," Chris muttered, a look of firm distaste plastered on his face as he watched the poncy teacher.

"Seconded," Hermione said faintly.

Angelica and Neville looked at each other, then shrugged. "Thirded," they said together. The other two each gave a small laugh. Meanwhile, Lockhart was still blathering.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Of course we will," Chris said with a snort. "Probably Snape will be giving out extra credit to whoever helps him cut Lockhart up for potions ingredients."

"Oh, yes," Angelica snarked, "because blood of ponce sells so well on the black market."

"Definitely," Chris agreed, "along with eye of idiot."

"Shh!" Hermione whispered.

"Sorry, Hermione," the two muttered sheepishly. She just rolled her eyes at them, a small smile giving her away – she thought they were funny. _Ha!_ Angelica thought. _Score one for the witches!_

Snape's upper lip was curling. Angelica wondered with faint unease why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at her like that she'd have been running as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. _Bowing is a symbol of status and respect; to make a show of it or to be dismissive of another in this act is a show of complete disregard for the other person, or else a total lack of etiiquette on one's own part._ Andromeda Tonks' lesson came to Angelica's mind unbidden. Hmm. So Lockhart was certainly a fool, and Snape wasn't even bothering to hide his dislike of the man. What a surprise. Then both they raised their wands like swords.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"Liar," Nevill muttered, and Angelica had to agree. Snape looked fit to be tied.

"One — two — three —"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

The Slytherins cheered. Angelica joined in – she absolutely loathed Snape, and was more than a little afraid of him, but Lockhart deserved whatever he got, no matter who dished it. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" said Chris and Neville together. Angelica snorted in agreement, trying not to laugh.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"

What an idiot. Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me —"

The dour man gave a curt, sneering nod, and set off to drag students onto the platform, leaving Lockhart to do much the same. Angelica stood on tiptoe, hoping to be picked. "I wonder if we'll learn anything besides that spell today?" she asked aloud. Chris, beside her, merely shrugged. Irritating tall person: he was still at least half a head taller than she was, and was _slouching_.

The universe was just so unfair.

Suddenly, Snape was in front of them. Angelica 'meep'ed and stepped back, grabbing Hermione's wrist for comfort. The Potions Master's lip curled into a cruel parody of a smile. "Time to split up the dream team," he drawled. "Granger, you can partner with Bulstrode, Potter–"

Angelica moved automatically to Neville. "I don't think so," Snape said, eyes glittering coldly. "Mr Halliwell," he said, his eyes darting to the Slytherin House crest on Chris' robes, "get up here. Let's see what you make of the brilliant Potter. And you, Mr Longbottom – you can partner with Mr Malfoy."

Neville whimpered, but did as he was told. Angelica's heart went out to him: Malfoy was a bully of the highest order, and seemed to love targeting Neville, in particular

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Chris and Angelica each bowed; Chris lith one arm on his stomach and one pressed against his back, and Angelica with one arm cradled in front of her and with one hand pulling back her robed in an odd sort of half-curtsey.

Odd. It seemed that a few hours of doing the motions over and over again in the summer really did engrave it into the mind. Well, Mrs Tonks would be pleased, it seemed.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don't want any accidents — one… two… three —"

When Lockhart called out 'two' there was a high, feminine shriek, and Angelica whirled around. Malfoy had completely disregarded Neville and had shot the spell at Hermione. She fell backward onto the platform, her arm making a sickening cracking noise when she fell onto it. Malfoy laughed, and Angelica saw red.

She didn't get to do anything, though. Hermione shot a hex at him, and suddenly he was covered in boils. "I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy's now-ridged face twisted in pink rage.

"Tarantallegra!"

And Hermione was dancing, her legs doing a strange, jittery twist that had her only barely hanging onto her balance.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge. "Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Hermione's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they looked back at the man.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Hermione's partner, Bulstrode, were lying on the floor, panting; Ron Weasley was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus Finnegan, apologizing for whatever his famous broken wand had done; but Angelica's dormmates, Morag and Mandy and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Morag had Mandy in a headlock and Mandy was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor.

Lockhart sprang forward and seperated the two. Morag had a blossoming black eye.

"Dear, dear. I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile. There was a moments pause – after all, in the wizarding world, gentlemen did _not_ duel ladies. Not seriously, at any rate. Not if it wasn't the middle of a war: the belief was that the fighting styles of the two genders were far too different to be successfully pitted against when not absolutely necessary. But it seemed that could be swept aside for a mere school lesson.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Angelica and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

"Now, Angelica," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops— my wand is a little overexcited—" Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Angelica raised an eyebrow. What, did he honestly believe anyone would respect him for bloodying up a girl? Nevermind that she was the Girl Who Lived, that was how most people would see it. If he was even able to, that is.

"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.

"Of you? Don't make me laugh," Angelica said with a derisive laugh.

Lockhart cuffed her merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Angie!"

She stared at him. "What, drop my wand?"

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three — two — one — go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded. Angelica watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

Angelica stepped back herself. "Get back!" she shouted, hoping it would just . . . go away, vanish in a puff of smoke or something.

But that wasn't what happened. Instead the snake reared back, and Angelica could have sworn it looked confused, while the Great Hall suddenly became very silent. Angelica looked around nervously. The snake had apparently gotten over it's surprise, and was slitehring toward the edge of the platform. Toward the student.

"Stop!" Angelica shouted, moving forward. The other students seemed to cringe back as she came near, but she ignored them. "Leave them alone," she ordered the snake. Her mind drifted back to a zookeeper that had come into her class once in Primary school. He;d had a snake, and had lectured on how to hold them, something about the head . . .

She couldn't think of anything better. Her hands swooped down, and then the snake was curled onto her arm, it's held held tightly at the base in her palm. "Don't. Move." she told it.

The snake seemed inclined to agree. Then someone spoke out.

"What do you think you're playing at?"

Angelica's head shot up, and she looked toward the source of the voice in confusion. "What? I'm not playing at anything – I just told it to stop."

But no one seemed inclined to agree. The Great Hall was now buzzing like a bee's nest, and the swarm was shouting at her – saying she was Slytherin's Heir, how could she be such a traitor, she was a half-blood herself . . . That she was decended form Slytherin. That she was just like Voldemort.

That did it for her. Finding the mental walls she generally had to keep the dead at bay suddenly very thin, Angelica forcibly shoved them back and shouted at the living idiots.

"You FUCKWITS!" Angelica shouted, stomping her foot. "What is _wrong _with you lot? I told the damn snake to back off and picked it up before it bit anybody! If you'd rather get bitten, _fine!_ Next time gormless here–"she jerked her thumb toward Malfoy, "– deicdes it'll be fun to summon something that could poison us all, _fine!_ You can all bloody well deal with it yourselves, and I'll laugh when it bites you!"

And with that she stormed out of the Great Hall. Poxy pillocks, all of them, she raged silently as she stomped off. She had no idea where she was going until she tripped. At which point she found herself in a deserted hallway with no paintings or tapestries – a rarity in the castle, to be sure – and only a dusty armchair at the far end, under a tall, unstained window. Trudging over to it, Angelica slumped down and tlet the barriers fall. Immediately, her head was barraged with people long passed insisting on talking to her. She let hteir words wash over her and just sunk, boneless, into the cushions.

Finally, it stopped. The dead had said their pieces, and now they were waiting for an answer. "I . . . have no fucking clue what to do about it," she said honestly, ignoring the feelings of disapproval she got from some of them for using foul language. It wasn't like she used it _often_ . . . "If this is the thanks I get, I'm glad I didn't go to Gryffindor. That sort of thing would actually be expected of me, then, and I don't like it. As it is, I'm not looking forward to the dorm tonight."

There wasn't much they could say to that. So instead, Angelica let a few of them guide her through the motions of what they thought would calm her down. One old wizard had her doing duelling drills, while a bibliophile from the seventeen hundreds had her reciting in French. She had hardly any clue what she was saying – and tuned him out when he suggested letting him just take her over for a moment to dump the knowledge in her head – but it was relaxing. Thus the lack of possessage.

All too soon it was ten o' clock, and Angelica was sneaking back up to the Ravenclaw Tower, a half an hour past curfew. Whoops.

No one really looked up when she came in, too absorbed in what ever they were reading or talking about, so Angelica was thankfully able to tiptoe up to her dorm without any incident. Unfortunately, one of her dormmates was sitting in front of the door.

Thank the Goddess it was Lisa. The mousy girl smiled at her shyly. "I don't think it would be a good idea to go in there right now," she said. "Morag's pretty worked up, and Padma's agreeing with her. Mandy's locked herself in the loo, but Sul Li is trying to calm them down."

Angelica tugged at one of her braids nervouly. "So am I hellspawn?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer. Lisa shrugged.

"I dunno. I came out here a bit ago to wait up for you. Here, let me check . . . " she stood and opened the door just enough to poke her head in, only for it to be snatched back by a very flushed-looking Mandy.

"Oh, Angie!" she cried, wrapping Angelica into a circulation-stopping hug. "You poor soul! How could _anyone_ think you're the Heir! Come on, I have some chocolates, you need them . . . "

Deciding _not_ to point out that Mandy had been very vocal in the Great Hall about Angelica's 'obvious' huilt, Angelica merely nodded and accepted the sweets. It was better than sleeping with an eye open for the rest of the year, by far.

People were weird.

**AN/AR: So . . . . How much does everyone hate me? I am so, SO sorry for being so completely MIA for . . . a month now? A bit longer. I have no excuse outside an abnormally busy schedule and losing heart after having to rewrite this chapter. A lot. This is the third copy I made from scratch, and not because I didn't like how it was turning out. Because the Bad Blue Screen of DOOM ™ hates me. Forgive me? Please? Looky, it's 4,223 words, double long, because I'm such a terrible person.**

**Internet-cookie?**

**- Mercy.**


	40. Chapter 40

One really had to thank the gods for small blessings.

Angelica thought so, at any rate, when classes were cancelled the last day of classes - she didn't have to deal with a single person she didn't want to. As such, she spent the day holed up in an empty classroom near the Library with her friends. Thanks to the large fireplace inside, it was fairly warm, and a few quilts and pillows from their dorms made everything quite comfortable while they chattered, eagerly waiting for the next day, when they'd be able to go home on the train.

Of course, Angelica still had to explain everything to them first. Some things just needed to be talked about, and why, after she'd been practically run out of the Great Hall the night before, she was carrying a snake wrapped around her wrist was one of them.

Angelica flushed under Hermione's 'what kind of bug are you?' stare. "Well, I didn't actually _mean _to keep the snake," she explained, "But I forgot about her completely until I went to change into my nightshirt last night. I didn't see her under my robe sleeves and she doesn't weigh very much, so . . . " She shrugged. "Yeah."

Neville, Hermione and Chris all stared at her for a moment before Chris slumped back onto his pillow-quilt couch and yawned. "Yeah, that sounds about right," he drawled, ignoring Hermione's spluttering. Angelica and Neville shared a look before bursting out into giggles.

Unfortunately, all good things, at Hogwarts at least, are merely an illusion to hide the terrible happenings going on nearby. The others had finally managed to coax her into the blizzard-ceilinged Great Hall for the End of Term Feast, ignoring the hisses and mutterings that surrounding them as they sat down and helped themselves to some of Slytherin Table's finest cake, when Dumbledore stood, and Angelica got an ill feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"This _can't_ be good . . . " she whispered. And indeed it wasn't.

"Students, teachers, ghosts and faculty," the aged wizard began sombrely, "it is with y deepest regrets that I inform you of what has happened today. It appears that the Heir of Slytherin has struck once more at the heart of Hogwarts. Justin Finch-Fletchley was found today with Sir Nicholas, both Petrified by the monster that has been sneaking about our school these past months. Please, let us have a moment of silence for these beloved two." After a brief pause, Dumbledore continued. "Thank you all – oh, and before I forget . . . " The sinking feeling in Angelica's stomach got deeper than ever. "Miss Potter, if you would please see me after the Feast? Thank you."

The Hall burst into buzzing again, and Angelica slouched low into her seat, straining to keep her balance on the thin bench. "Oh," she moaned, hiding her face in her hands. "What could he possibly want me here for?" She peeked at her friends between her fingers. "Chris, would you stay nearby, just in case?"

The boy nodded with a faint shrug. "Sure, why not?" he agreed, popping a tart into his mouth. Angelica grinned – he was such a dork.

Soon after that, Angelica got up from the table. The food all looked lovely, of course . . . but she wasn't hungry, now. Who knew what everyone would be saying about her? She'd been talking to a snake, and the next day, someone turned up Petrified next to a ghost! Slytherin was known for that ability, everyone probably thought she was the heir, now, never mind that she _wasn't._ There was no way in the world she was related to Slytherin.

But . . . . how did she know for sure? It would explain the Parseltongue ability, if nothing else. And if the Heir was really controlling a Slytherin family artefact, and she was a descendant of the man . . . . she could track the Heir. Angelica smothered a grin. She definitely knew what she'd be asking her ancestors to help her with over the hols . . .

"Ang, slow down!"

There was a burst of blue orbs of light in front of her, and Angelica stepped back. "Christopher!" she squeaked. He grinned at her and grabber hand.

In a moment they were outside the Headmaster's office, at the top of the spiral staircase. She's raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. All there was to do was talk and wait for the Headmaster.

Dumbledore showed up fairly quickly, and to Angelica's surprise, invited Chris in with them. In a moment they were seated in two of the squashy chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, and he was looking over his glasses at her.

"Miss Potter . . . is there anything you wish to tell me?" he asked.

Angelica shook her head slowly. "Nope," she said, popping the 'p' at the end. Dumbledore didn't look like he quite believed her, and sat back in his throne-like chair.

"I see." He turned to Chris. "Mister Halliwell, I have been meaning to ask after you. Will you be returning to Hogwarts next year?"

Chris shrugged. "Yeah, I don't see why not. I'm keeping up, and normal school's fine, too."

Dumbledore nodded. "I see. Miss Potter, how are you settling in at your new place of residence?"

Angelica's eyes narrowed. "I love my home. Prue is everything I could ever ask for in a mother and I cant imagine not living with her again."

The old man nodded. "I see, I see. Will you be going home for the Christmas holidays, then?"

"I will for Yule, yes." Dumbledore seemed slightly taken aback at the idea of a Muggle raised student not celebrating Christmas, but said nothing.

"Ah. And you, Mister Halliwell?"

"Same as Angelica," Chris said. "I just need to make sure I've packed everything and I'll be ready to leave on the train tomorrow."

Dumbledore waved a hand toward the door, which creaked open. "Of course, my apologies. Run along, you two. I hope you have a safe journey to London."

Angelica and Chris rose to their feet and headed out the door. As the gargoyle hiding the stairs turned and closed behind them, Angelica looked back over her shoulder sourly and muttered to Chris, "He's insane. Dissect what he said tomorrow morning?"

"My quick-quotes quill got it all down in my bag. See you at breakfast."

"I hope they have peanut butter."

.

The next morning dawned bright and busy. Angelica very much felt the call of her bed, with its thick curtains, perfect or closing of the chaos that was four twelve and thirteen year old girls squawking and rushing around to pack their things at the last minute.

She couldn't, though. The best she got was a Floating Charm on her trunk as she picked her way through the castle and down to the Great Hall for some food. Thankfully, the House Elves had peanut butter pancakes set out, so almost everything was right in the world. It got better when she made sure not to grab a _'Do Not Use Magic Outside Of School'_ slip, and nudged Hermione to do the same.

The train ride home was . . . alright. The semester had been long, and neither Angelica nor any of her friends had much energy for talking. They compared how well they had done, of course. Hermione was, surprise, surprise, at the top of their class, as was Luna in hers. Chris had placed second, which astounded Angelica, because he'd been fairly swamped with Muggle school work. His mother was sending it in boxes each week.

Angelica was fairly happy with her place – fifth. Not shabby, but she wanted to be better by the end of the year. She had top marks in Charms, at least. Neville was tenth in their class, and first in Herbology. He grinned when he read that out, and Angelica was happy for him. Plants were his thing. He deserved a chance to shine.

As it happened, Angelica ended up falling asleep without realising until she was shaken awake by Hermione when they reached the station. By that point, Neville and Luna had already left to find their families. Angelica and Chris shared a long look behind Hermione's back while the three of them walked through the train car.

"Prue's the one getting you, right?" Chris asked quietly.

Angelica nodded. "Yeah, of course, Just . . . lighten up, will you? I'm sure it's nothing, and if it is, we can talk to her about it. Alright?"

The Halliwell boy nodded. Angelica frowned; his jaw was tense. She really wanted to avoid a scene . . .

"Look, maybe we should just talk to her at home. No need to get into it in the middle of the station."

Chris' eyebrows flew up. "What? No, Angie, it'll be fine. Look, I won't rush into things, I swear."

Angelica eyed him warily. " . . . Alright," she said reluctantly. "Just don't make a scene or say anything horrid."

"Horrid?" he asked.

"Yes. No swearing or – or mentioning anything indecent. Best behaviour, promise?"

"Fine."

Angelica smiled. "Lovely. Now let's go find her. How long do we have until you need to be home?"

"Dinner time in California," Chris shrugged. "So . . . probably the time you'd wake up tomorrow. We've got time."

Angelica frowned. "Alright . . . "

"Angie! Over here!"

"Chris!"

Prue was standing across from the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and another woman, a redhead, was walking over, waving to Chris. Said boy's eyes flew wide in surprise.

"Chris?" Angelica asked. "Who's that?"

"My Aunt Paige," Chris answered incredulously. "What's she doing here?"

By that point, the two of them had reached Prue, and Paige was upon them, sweeping Chris into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetie, it's so good to see you," she grinned.

Chris smiled hesitantly, already seeing his and Angelica's plans going down the drain. They'd have to talk to Prue later, tomorrow probably. He wouldn't be able to leave before then, his mom would insist he be home for dinner and hang out with Wyatt.

Paige straightened and made to hold out a hand to Prue, who was standing stiffly, Angelica noticed, quietly filing that away into her mental 'Proof that Prue is Prue Halliwell' file. The dark-haired woman shook her hair back, and Paige's mouth dropped. "Prue? Oh my God . . . "

Prue hesitated for a split second before her face fell into a mask of confusion. "Excuse me?" she asked, the American accent Angelica had become so used to suddenly non-existant. "I'm sorry, have we met before now?"

Paige slowly shook her head, seeming to regain her bearing. "No, no, I'm sorry. It's just that my sister died a few years back and you look . . . a lot like her." She smiled and held out her hand again. "I'm Paige, Chris' Aunt."

"You're the famous Paige? Whenever Chris and Angelica got together last summer he could hardly stop talking about you and . . . Phoebe? I must say, if even half of what he's said is true, he's very lucky to have the two of you in his life. I only hope I can meet the same standard as Angelica's guardian. I just adopted her last summer, so I'm rather new to it all." Chris was silently impressed – she hadn't mentioned her own name even once, but if you weren't looking for it you'd never realise that. Paige certainly hadn't.

Paige blushed lightly at the praise. "Well, thank you. I'm sure you'll do just fine with Angelica – Chris never stops talking about her, and she's a great girl." Her eyes darted to the clock above the barrier and then to Chris before landing on Prue again. "Hey, why don't we get together some time? Maybe Chris and I could orb you over to my place and we could have dinner. My daughters would love to meet Angie here."

Prue, who had relaxed as the conversation went on, stiffened again. " . . . Sure, why not? Can I get back to you on it, though? Angelica and I have a lot going on or the holidays. Here – let me give you my house phone, and you give me yours, and we'll iron everything out later."

Paige nodded. "That's fine. Here' let me give you my cell, too. If you can't reach me at home, I always have it with me."

Prue nodded hesitantly. "Lovely. Nice to . . . meet you."

"It was great to meet you, too. Come on Chris, Phoebe's making breakfast for dinner, and I'll bet you anything that the girls will eat it all before we can get there."

As the two witchlighters made their way to a more secluded area to orb from, Angelica glanced over at Miss Trudoe. She was gripping the cord just above her triquetra necklace so hard her knuckles were white. Strike two.

One more, and Prue would have to be a Halliwell.


	41. Chapter 41

"So . . .You're probably wondering what that was about, huh?"

Angelica looked at Prue in the visor mirror and nodded. "It'd be nice to know, yeah. You didn't sound like yourself at _all_, and Chris' aunt thought you were her sister."

Prue sighed tapped played with her cuticles against the steering wheel. "Chris, huh?" she finally said. "What's his last name? You never mentioned it."

"Halliwell," Angelica said, finally turning in her seat to face the older witch, eyeing her face carefully. "Why?"

Prue sighed again. "I figured as much." She glanced quickly at Angie before going on; "Angie, I can't tell you all of it, okay? It's against the rules."

The rules? Angie wondered. "What - "

"Just – just wait a minute, okay? You know I'm a witch. You know that I'm from America. That woman – Paige – is someone I knew back then, but I'm not supposed to see now. Do you remember what I told you about the Elders?"

Angelica nodded. "They work for the Powers that Be, and are in charge of Whitelighters, guardian angels for witches. You said they're pretty annoying, too."

Prue smiled a bit. "They are. They're also my bosses, and . . . I'm not allowed to see anyone from my old life. Or if I do, they aren't supposed to know who I am. Okay?"

There was a long pause while Angelica stared down at her hands or out the window, before she finally answered. "You're Prue Halliwell, aren't you? You're Chris' Aunt."

Angelica couldn't see it, but Prue nodded. "Yeah," she said horsely. "I am."

.

His Aunt Paige's row house was noisy as ever, and Chris couldn't help but grin at the noise as hey landed in the door way between the kitchen and great room. Tamora, Kat, and Henry were playing some sort of game and screaming while they chased each other around the coffee table – it looked like a messed up version of tag, where whoever got squirted with the Hershey's chocolate sauce was doomed to be tackled and have it licked off.

His cousins were weird.

Almost the second they orbed in, Paige rushed over to separate the trio, saying something about pancakes and not breaking her easel again. Uncle Henry was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes. Music was playing from the record player in the corner and Chris rolled his eyes – his Aunt Paige had an odd taste for Tom Lehrer.

"CHRIS!" Twin voices squealed. Tamora and Kat completely tuned out their mother's lecture and scrambled over to hug him. He caught them and grinned.

This was home.

.

**December 20**

It was around four in the afternoon on Sunday when Chris orbed in to Nasturtium Boulevard's living room. He looked beat, and had a bruise forming just below his left eye. Oddly, however, he was grinning, apparently completely oblivious to his less than ideal state.

"Hey Angie," he said, falling back onto the dark green couch cushions.

Angelica stared at her friend, baffled. "Chris . . . " she began slowly. "What the _bloody hell_ happened to you?"

Chris blinked in surprie, before he seemingly realised just what exactly she was talking about, and lifted a hand up to touch his bruise. He held back a wince. "Oops. I was helping Mel train for her tournament. It's on the twenty ninth and she's nervous."

The green eyed girl slumped in relief; she'd thought his parents, maybe even his brother, had hit him or something. It did beg the question though . . . "Tournament?"

"Yeah," Chris shrugged. "Mom and Dad signed me, Mel, and Wyatt up at this dojo she and her sisters went to as kids when we were little. My cousins go, too. Wyatt doesn't anymore, since he's buy being the Twice Blessed and all that, but the rest still go. Mel's the best at it; she's working on getting her first degree black belt soon; she only needs to get one last brown belt before she can test for it. I was a blue belt before Mom and Dad sent me to Hogwarts, so she wanted me to help her practise."

Angelica nodded, smiling. "That's brilliant, Chris! It sounds fun; tell her I wish her luck in the tourney. So," she went on, becoming much more serious, "about Prue."

Chris perked up from his seat at the end of the couch. "Yeah? Is she?"

The girl nodded. "She is!" Angie said, clasping her hands together. "Chris, she is! She said she was, when I asked. She said the Elders wouldn't let her keep in contact with anyone from her old life, so . . . " she looked around before lowering her voice. "Chris, I think she's a Whitelighter. I mean, it explains everything, doesn't it?"

Chris' eyebrows flew up, before they suddenly dropped downward and scrunched together in thought. "Yeah . . . " he said pensively. "I guess it would."

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing Go Fish and making decorations for Yule.

It was nice.

.

**December 29**

The dojo was loud and echoed with noise. Chris was impressed. "You excited, Mel?" hhe asked, looking around.

Melinda grinned. "Yeah, I guess," she said with a shrug. "I wish the others were here, but they're all busy because Christmas is coming up in a few days." The two of them reached a table with a trophies and medals piled on the top and a block of chairs by the mirrored back wall. Melinda glanced up at the large banner hung across it before she set her bag down and turned to look at the other competitors on her tiptoes. After a moment, she fell back onto her feet and grinned. "Oh! Chris, I see Aaron, I'm going to go spar with him a bit before we start, okay? Watch my stuff and save a couple of seats in case Mom or Dad or Wyatt show up, okay?"

" . . . Sure," Chris said, watching the ten-year-old shove her mouth guard in her mouth and pull on her gloves before dashing across the room to tackle her friend in a hug. He called out to her. "Don't forget your – never mind. Spar without a helmet. If you get a concussion, I'm not orbing you to the hospital!" Chris stuffed Mel's spare set of denim shorts and spare tee shirt back into his sister's headgear and into her duffel bag and moved to sit closer to the front row.

– _**Time Skip – 30 Minutes –**_

"Come on, shrimpy! Catch me if you can!" Melinda laughed and ducked Aaron's jab. "Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me!"

The dark blond boy made a face at her, and Melinda thought if he wasn't wearing a mouth guard he'd be sticking out his tongue. She'd taken her own out a few minutes ago when they stopped for water, and hadn't bothered to put it back in.

Aaron threw another punch, and Melinda laughed, throwing back one of her own. He blocked upward, and she pouted. Aaron laughed and moved forward, making Melinda go back on the defensive. They were both laughing. This was fun.

Suddenly, there were stars in her eyes, and the ground was rushing toward her. A large, dull pain throbbed at the side of her head, making her vision swim. Someone was shouting, and the mat wasn't staying still. Her ear was . . . _pulsing_, it seemed. She put a hand to her forehead and nodded her head from side to side, trying to make it stop.

"Mel? Are you alright?" Chris. She'd recognise his voice anywhere, even with the weird accent he'd been getting lately. How did he get beside her? "Mel, can you hear me?"

She nodded her head, and everything went dark.

_**Chris' Point Of View**_

Mel dropped to the floor, and Chris stared. What? The n he snapped out of it, and was suddenly running, racing over to her. "Someone call nine one one!" he shouted, dropping down by his sister's side. The blond boy, Aaron probably, was hovering, looking worried, and so was the dark haired girl that had accidentally rounhouse kicked the side of Mel's head. She was biting her nails and her dark hair was sticking to her face. Chris felt his face go pale. _Wyatt!_

Chris stood abruptly and barked at the two ten-year-olds to watch Melinda, and moved to the doors, where he'd noticed a pay phone attached to the wall when he and Melinda came in. Where was Wyatt? Why didn't he sense their sister was hurt? He was the stupid Twice Blessed, he should be able to tell! _WYATT!_ He tried calling again. _Wy, Melinda's hurt!_

Nothing. _**WYATT!**_ Chris felt his voice crack, even in his head.

Chris kicked the wall when he reached it. Dammit, where was Wyatt? If that little _bastard_ had him on mute again, he'd kill him. If Melinda . . . No. _WYATT!_ He fumbled for change so he could dial. Why wasn't there anyone overseeing this? There had to be more adults than just the man out front greeting everybody! There _had_ to be.

_WYATT! _He finally found the last quarter he needed. Chris' face scrunched up in fury – why, why the _hell_ couldn't he have the power to heal his sister? What use was it being half Whitelighter if he couldn't help his own freaking sister? He couldn't even _orb_ – there were too many people, an they'd wonder where he'd gone, and his parents would kill him if the Cleaners decided to 'fix' a mess. Damn it all! Chris kicked the wall impatiently again.

The phone stopped ringing. "Hello?" he asked. "This is Chris Halliwell. I'm at the Ray Harbourn's Shotokan Dojo on 1872 Pritchard Street. My ten year old little sister just passed out after getting kicked in the head sparring. I think she had a concussion, and her head's swollen on the side."

There was a pause at the other end before a scratchy voice said, "_An ambulance will be there momentarily, sir. Please stay calm._"

"I am calm!"

No, he wasn't. He really wasn't.

.

**Edited July 1 2012**


	42. Chapter 42

**Sorry for the choppiness of the last chapter. I wanted to get past it as quickly as possible, and . . . yeah. Not my best work. So, to make up for it – TWO chapters in one day! Forgive me because I bribe you? Pleeaase?**

**- M.**

.

_**Chris**_

Chris was alone when he orbed on to Platform 9 ¾. He didn't think he'd ever had a worse winter vacation. Seeing the other Hogwarts students bustling and laughing as the got onto the bright red train just made it seem even worse, and by the time he reached his, Angelica, Hermione and Neville's usual compartment, he was in a thoroughly bad mood and glowering at the train car's wallpaper.

Angelica and her First Year friend, Luna, were already inside, and by the looks of it they discussing a magazine. The title page read_ The Quibbler_.

He knocked on the glass door before sliding it open and walking inside, his clunky orange suitcase bumping along behind him. Angelica looked up with a smile. "Hullo, Chris!" she chirped. "How are . . . What's wrong?" she asked, her face lined with worry. Chris shrugged.

"I'll tell you later, when everyone gets here. I don't want to have to repeat myself," he said calmly. It was true: if he had his choice, he would be able to time travel and wouldn't have to tell them at all, but since he couldn't, he'd stick to only having to talk about it once.

Angelica nodded slowly, and Chris dropped into his seat and pulled his sketch pad and pencils out of his backpack. It was a new one, since the one he'd had was almost filled. Grabbing a 6B, he hunched down in his seat and began to draw, doing his best to ignore the worried, lip-biting glances Angie kept sending him every few minutes. At least Hermione wasn't here, yet – she wouldn't be willing to wait and find out.

He needed to stop thinking. He pressed the pencil harder against the paper.

About half an hour later, the train lurched, and Angelica turned away from her conversation, which now included Hermione and Neville, as well. "Alright," she said "what's wrong? You looked like you were going to set the car on fire when you came in here."

Chris set his sketch pad down flat on his lap and sighed, looking up at the ceiling rather than his friends. "Mel had an accident," he said in a slow monotone, trying not to clench his teeth. "She was sparring before her tournament, and got kicked in the head. She had a concussion, and has barely been able to hear anything since. The doctors say she might not hear again."

Angelica's eyes widened and Hermione covered a gasp with her hands. Neville looked worried, and Luna glanced down at her copy of _The Quibbler _and hesitantly handing it to him. Chris dipped his head slightly and took it from her. She smiled lightly.

"Oh, Chris," Hermione said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry. Is it permanent?"

Chris shrugged. "The doctors said it could be. Wyatt's tried healing her, but hasn't been able to. Him, Mom and Dad were out visiting some of Wyatt's buddies in Oakland and the - he ha me on mute. They didn't know anything until the next day, when I got a hold of Mom on her cell phone."

It was a rather silent train ride after that.

.

Their second term passed in a flurry of notes, bragging Defence teachers and novel length letters between Chris and his sister – he didn't bother sending them with an owl any more, he just orbed them to her when he figured she'd be alone.

There weren't any more attacks, and the whole castle seemed to be breathing more easily. The only truly horrifying thing to happen was Lockhart's massacre of Valentine's Day. The lurid pink Great Hall and the sour dwarves roaming the hall were . . . unnerving, to say the least. The Weasley Twins had fun using Sticking Charms to attach a dwarf to each of Lockhart's kegs, however.

Then Beltane came.

Angelica, personally, had never been more thankful or felt more guilty for having the clearing in the Forest as her and Chris' usual place for rituals. They'd both decided to skip out on the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match that day, her in favour of celebrating, him in favour of researching what Slytherin's Monster might be in the school Library. He hadn't wanted to celebrate, same as usual, now. When Angelica got back to the castle almost an hour after the game had ended, it was to almost immediately be grabbed by Professor McGonagall and taken to the Hospital Wing. Another Petrification had happened. Another dual one.

Angelica slumped to the floor when she saw who it was. "Chris," she moaned. "Hermione. Oh, dear god and goddess . . . "

"They were found with a mirror and a note in their hands, Miss Potter," McGonagall was saying. She heald out a paper with twisting glyphs printed on it, but Angie hardly paid any attention. "Does that mean anything to you?" The girl shook her head, not really paying attention. McGonagall sighed and set the objects down on the table between Hermione and Chris, then left. Angelica paid her no mind.

The green eyed girl spent the rest of the night by her friends' beds, holding their hands. Madame Pomphrey must have taken pity on her after she fell asleep in her chair, because the next morning she woke up in one of the hospital beds, with a quilt tucked around her.

Not long after that, she finally noticed the note McGonagall had been talking about. It was in Theban Script, the alphabet she and Chris had taught Hermione and Neville. They used when they were passing notes. She, Chris and Neville did. Hermione occasionally used it to tell them to pay attention to Professor Binns.

_basilisk – poison long lived deadly eyes – indirect to petrify ? male breath poison air live centuries._

_norris reflection in water sir nick dead, Justin see through him nick cant die __again_

_spider enemy rooster crow – deadly ? parsel slyth tame snake ? magic fam trait let heir tame it ?_

_angie parsel check line – tame snake ?_

_mirrors check round corners_

Hermione and Chris' handwriting overlapped in places, and was spread out over the page, like they'd been writing in a hurry. Considering they'd found out a basilisk was under the school . . . they probably had been. Angelica read back over it again, trying to figure out what to do. These were her _friends_, they were innocents, just like all the others. If she could stop it . . .

She read over the line about her taming the snake again. No, she couldn't be related to Slytherin, could she? _But she did speak Parseltongue_, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind. She shook her head and stood abruptly, grabbing the mirror and note. She had to get outside, near a gravesite or _something_. She wasn't going to waste hours in the library looking up her lineage – if Hogwarts even had records of that sort of thing - when there was a monster loose in it and it would be sop much faster to just _ask_ her ancestors who they were.

_There. _But the far edge of the lake, about fifty meters from the shore, was an old cemetery, mostly crumbled away and forgotten, but still a cemetery, which meant it would be easier to use her powers. She climbed over the low stone wall, took a deep breath and shouted, both mentally and out loud, _'HELLO?'_

Angelica was very glad she'd thought to brace herself. With how she generally kept her Deathspeak under lock and key, letting it out again was . . . headache inducing. The dead were clamouring to talk to her, and she winced as she tried to hold them off, to make sense of what they were saying.

That wasn't going to work.

'_SHUT UP!'_ She roared. And the dead went silent. Blessedly, wonderfully silent. '_Thank you,_' she said, climbing down from the top of the wall. '_Look, I know I've ignored you lot lately, and I'm sorry. But I have a problem, and I need you to help._' The dead seemed to press up closer, feeling . . . _eager_ to help. How unlike the living they were. She hesitated, then went on.

'_Up at the castle, someone's let out a Basilisk, and they're using it to attack students. It's petrifying them, turning them to stone so they're not alive or dead, just . . .there. It's supposedly Salazar Slytherin's . . . pet, I suppose, and only his line can control it. I'm a Parselmouth, and I need to find out if I'm descended from him. _

'_So, what I need you lot to do is start finding mt relatives, starting on my father's side. His name is James Potter, and my mother's name is Lily Potter. I don't know my grandparents' names, but I need you to find them, and who they're descended from, until you find out if I'm a close enough descendant of Slytherin's, if one at all, to control the Basilisk and make it stop attacking people. Would any of you be willing to help me?_'

There was a great clamour, and Angelica could only feel unnerved as she stood there among the headstones with the dead sweeping away to do as she'd asked. They were acting as though she were the Queen or something.

She hadn't even said please.

.

Angelica spent thre time it took the dead to find out if she was a Slytherin or not to research basilisks and how to, oh, _not _die when taming one. The best thing she could come up with was a blindfold. Not bad, as it turned out that it took all of three days for the dead – she really, truly did have to come up with another name for them, for when she was speaking out loud or with her friends. Besides, only referring to them as 'the dead' was . . . morbid, if nothing else – to track down her father's family line up through the Potters, to the Peverells, and then to Salazar Slytherin . . . who, as it turned out, was Helga Hufflepuff's overprotective older brother. He'd left the great bleeding snake there to make sure no one made a grab at his beloved younger twin's virtue while he was gone. Or that of any descendants she may end up having that in turn managed to have their own spawn. 'Purge the school' indeed.

Tenth century men were positively _barmy_.

One good thing came of it, however: Angelica was related closely enough that she could control the snake. Perfect.

'_Er, none of you would happen to know where the Chamber of Secrets IS, would you?_' she asked tentatively. She was met with what could only be described as a unanimous shrug on behalf of everyone long since passed. Great. That left detective work. She'd ask the school ghosts. Most of them were centuries old, and at least one or two must have been around long enough to remember the Founding. Hopefully. If they did, they might know where the Chamber was.

The Grey Lady was not pleased to be asked, and Angelica quickly left here alone.

Peeves tried to throw water balloons at her, and after a few of the dead decided to somehow choke him from beyond the grave, Angelica left him alone, too.

Sir Nick was Petrified, and so neither living nor dead. No asking him, then.

The Friar was only eight hundred years dead, and of no help to her.

The headless hunt wouldn't stop making lewd jokes, and Angelica wondered if it would be worth it to report them. Honestly, it was a post-Quidditch victory party without any of the party games for her!

The Bloody Baron, while he did not actually talk, led her to the girl's loo on the second floor, where there was _yet another_ ghost.

Moaning Myrtle was more than happy to help. Angelica thought she must have died when her time of the month came around, because she was very emotional, and surprisingly morbid for a fifteen year old that died in the forties. Maybe she'd lived in London during the Blitz? Whatever the case, Myrtle was more than happy to go through a play by play of her death, ending with a vague hand motion towards a broken sink.

A broken sink with snakes engraved on the sides of the faucet.

Angelica watched the snakes, and could almost swear she saw them _move._ "_Open_," she hissed.

The sink sank into the floor.

.

**Edited July 1 2012**

**Edited July 2 2012**


	43. Chapter 43

**Pre-AN/AR: Hey all! Who is totally psyched to be able to update when she thought she'd be computerless for a week? I am!**

**Also, as you may have noticed, the note/letter/rant/petition whatsit has been removed in favor of the actual chapter. That doesn't make it any less important, it just means that now that I have chapter to post I'm removing it so that the chapter count is still accurate. I'm still not happy with FFNet right now, but I'm not willing to give it up entirely yet. I'm probably going to split between here and another fanfic site from now on.  
><strong>

**On a lighter note . . . anybody noticed the cover art image I made for this? Drew it, edited it in Paint, of all programs, and now . . . enjoy. This means look and pretend to be excited, people. I personally think it's adorable. (But I'm the artist, what do I know?)  
><strong>

**- Mercy.  
><strong>

**.  
><strong>

_Angelica watched the snakes, and could almost swear she saw them move. "Open," she hissed._

_The sink sank into the floor._

.

Angelica blinked in shock. She . . . hadn't expected that to work.

. . . The password was 'open'? Seriously? She'd bee _guessing_. Had Slytherin figured that he didn't need to be crafty at all, just because it was in Parseltongue? It was something of a letdown, if a happy one. The Ravenclaw blinked at the dark pipe for a moment before pinching her nose and jumping inside.

She did _not_ shout 'Geronimo' on the way down. She didn't.

The pipe was to bumpy and gross for her to try and catch enough breath to say anything, if for no other reason. Angelica ended up flying out the end of the pipe, landing a food five feet away in a pile of what she really, _really_ hoped weren't tiny bones. She kept her necroscopic abilities firmly to herself to avoid accidentally checking. If she did not perceive herself walking on tiny rat bones, than she was not walking on tiny dead rat bones. And she needed to stop reading Chris' philosophy books.

It took Angelica perhaps ten minutes to walk through the large, sewer-like tunnel and reach a round wooden door perhaps half as tall as the entrance to the Great Hall. Detailed silver snakes twisted over the surface of the door around an ouroboros* knocker, all recently polished. The green gems in the snakes' eyes were off putting, seemingly tracking Angelica's every move. Shoving that thought away, then.

Angelica tilted her head, studying the door for a moment, before concentrating on the snakes and speaking. _"Open."_Oh. Well, that was odd. She could actually hear the hiss behind her words, that time. There wasn't any time to be surprised at that fact, however, because the loud locking mechanisms in the door finished their work with a ringing _click, _and the door swung forward, making Angelica need to jump back to avoid being hit by it. She might've sworn the snakes were laughing little hisses at her.

Behind the door was, in a word, _big_. Tall, arched ceiling, absolutely ginormous statue of a man's head, complete with a stern looking monkey face, and smaller snake statues a little taller than Angelica herself were lining the path over a short bridge to the main area. Blackened metal was the theme of the day in keeping people from falling into the water below. It formed a grate over the water a few feet below the stone, and appeared to be what was holding up the bridge.

"**What are you doing here, Dead Speaker?"**

Angelica jumped straight off the floor and whirled around, eyes open and not a little afraid.

But . . . no one was there. "Hello?" she asked, unconsciously reaching out to find out who had spoken. In an instant, she'd touched one of the dead's minds. What were they doing down here? "Who are you?" she asked, both out loud and via the strange half-telepathy she had with dead people.

The person seemed extremely amused, and if he were corporeal, Angelica was certain he'd be leaning back with his weight on one leg, arms crossed while he smirked at her. Wait. Smirked. Chamber of Secrets. Dead guy. "You're Salazar Slytherin!"

The dead man laughed. "**And **_**you're**_** a member of Ravenclaw's House? Who soaked the Sorting Hat in cider*?**"

Angelica blinked. " . . . You know? Whatever. Have fun laughing at me. I'm going to give your little pet a talking to and make it stop attacking the school. So either leave off or be _helpful_, if you can manage."

The man . . . Slytherin, didn't say anything, but neither did he leave. Angelica decided to ignore him; who knew, maybe he could add a bit of advice later on how to deal with a thousand year old basilisk. She walked aimlessly around the chamber for a moment, trying to figure out where the basilisk might be. The walls were tightly pressed down on to one another, with no odd cracks or grooves when she ran her hand over them. As someone who'd been living most of the school year in for the past two years, she considered herself something of an adept at figuring out where hidden passageways were. Hogwarts had enough of them in them in, on and around the Charms corridor, certainly. Yet Slytherin was the paranoid one.

Tactics over paranoia, maybe?

Angelica shook her head. She was not going to let herself be distracted. Throwing a brief glare over he shoulder in the general direction of Slytherin's mind, she pulled her wand from it's arm holster and waved it over the wall, tapping it once and incanting, _"revelio ianua._" The wall shimmered for a moment, and a short, arched door appeared, about a foot above Angelica's head at the point. She pulled on the – again ouroboros shaped – handle, and it swung open to blow a lot of dust in her face.

Coughing out a muttered _'Lumos,_' Angelica held her wand over her head and looked around the room. It was rather small, on a Hogwarts scale. Perhaps twice as long of her room at Prue's, and maybe a little wider, it was lined with dusty wooden bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Three rows stood in the middle until they were about seven feet from the wall adjoining the door. Angelica could just make out a faded ouroboros carved into the floor, and there was a chair and table across the room, sitting under an enchanted stained glass window in the gap between two bookshelves.

She'd found the library. Lovely. Ruthlessly squashing down her desire to hop inside and flip through all the books, Angelica turned on her heel and shut the door behind her, trying again to figure out where the bloody ovegrown snake was.

"**Language, little Death Speaker,"** Slytherin's 'voice' said smoothly. Angelica snarled at him.

"**Where the hell is the basilisk?" she demanded. "I'm damn well not in the mood to play any word games, and your stupid snake has Petrified two of my best friends and is terrorizing the whole school. So **_where is it?_"

Slytherin was silent, and Angelica stalked toward where his mind was, for lack of a better term, standing. "Tell. Me," she demanded,

A pause. And then, "I always found the basilisk slithering out of my statue's mouth quite fitting. My family speaks to snakes, and in like manner one comes from my mouth. Deliciously inventive, is it not? Rowena I think would approve."

Angelica rolled her eyes with a brief and halted 'thank you' before speeding over to the statue and concentrating on the image of a snake. Snake, snake, snake . . . Okay. She opened her eyes again, still visualising, and hissed, _"Open,"_ to the statue.

Nothing. Angelica growled and kicked the statue's chin. "_Open up! Lower your fat stone jaw! Speak up, Slytherin! Loose your stupid gob!_"

The stone scraped as the statue's jaw slid downward into the floor of the Chamber. Huh. That worked? Angelica shook her head. No getting sidetracked! There was an odd sound coming from the new gaping hole on the statue's jaw, and then she could make out the hisses of the snake, muttering about it's master coming to speak with it.

Angelica quickly clapped a hand over her eyes and squeezed them shut. After a few moments, the gritty scraping sound stopped, and she could feel something very obviously large breathing on her. She tried really hard not to flinch or sweat or do anything that might let the snake know she was afraid of it. She held up her wand, and tried to think of what to say to it to make it stop.

Alright, maybe she hadn't thought this through very well?

" **. . . **_Mistress?_" a confused voice asked. _"Why is the new Mistress covering her eyes? Mistress? Little Mistress with the two snakes on her head, why are you not looking at me? Mistress? Have I made you angry?"_ The snake stopped for a moment, and Angelica squeaked when she felt it's tongue flick at her. Then it began laughing. _"Silly snake head Mistress! Afraidness is not good for you! Basil cannot hurt you with her eyes! Such a silly Mistress, indeed! My Salazar should have liked you!"_

Angelica moved her bottom three fingers down and cracked open one eye. _"Pardon?"_

"**Basil isn't harming Master Salazar's little ones! Her eyes won't hurt you, Master Salazar promised it."**

Angelica shut her eyes again, but let her hand drop and reached out to where Slytherin's mind was resting, casually as anything and very, very amused from his place on top of his statue. **'Is that true?'** she asked him. **'Be honest. Will the basilisk's . . . Basil's, eye's kill me or Petrify me or anything?'**

Slytherin seemed to snort. **"Yes,"** he drawled, eerily reminiscent of Chris when he was being sarcastic. **"Because when I left the giant killer snake beneath a **_**school **_**housing my little sister I wanted it to surely poison any of my descendants or her. Really, I did."** The phrase 'idiot child' was left unspoken. **"Idiot child."**

Or, of course, not. Angelica rolled her eyes beneath the lids and slowly cracked them open.

The basilisk was staring straight at her with one giant eye.

Nothing. Ziltch. Nada. Squat. Goose eggs.

Sweet.

Angelica straightened up and cleared her throat. "_Basil,_" she began.

The snake nodded eagerly, like a puppy. "Yes two snakey haired new Mistress?"

**. . .Odd creature. **_"Er, yeah. You've been roaming the school lately, haven't you?"_

"**Yes, Mistress! Tom Master from long ago has come back. He brings a little girl to speak to Basil so that she may leave and eat spiders. But he sends her to little ones, like Mistress Helga loved, and tells her to 'rip, tear kill!' Master Salazar and Mistress Helga should be very angry with Basil if Basil harms their hatchlings, so Basil has them sleep instead. Master Salazar should be happy with Basil, because now the hatchlings sleep before they take their ex-ams like they should. Is Mistress displeased with Basil? Are Mistress Helga and Master Salazar displeased with her?"**

Angelica didn't know what to say. She'd honestly expected a little sociopath in snake form and got . . . a puppy. And a four year old. Fused together with green scaled.

Weird much?

She shook her head and spoke carefully, doing her best not to upset the sixty-foot long poisonous snake fully capable of eating her, no matter how puppy-like it acted. _"They are not unhappy . . . Basil . . . but the students are sleeping to much, and while they will wake up soon, the girl and . . . Tom Master are being bad. Mistress Helga and Master Salazar's hatchlings are all afraid that they'll be made to sleep when they don't want to, and it's not good. When Tom Master and his girl come, you need to make them go to sleep like the rest of the students, to that they don't run away when their teachers tell them to stop being bad."_

There was a lengthy pause before Basil nodded. _"Yes Little Mistress!"_ the giant basilisk . . . chirped. "_Is Basil able to have her own sleep now?_"

" **. . . **_Sure._"

And with that the giant snake slithered back into the statue's mouth, letting it close just as her tail slipped past the threshold.

Angelica looked around the large room for a moment before realising something.

She had no bloody clue how to get out of the Chamber.

Salazar Slytherin was laughing uproariously behind her.

.

**AN/AR: An ouroboros is a symbol showing a snake in the chape of a circle, eating it's own tail. It represents eternity, continuity, etcetera, blah, blah, blah, yadda. 'Kay?**

**Cider was once a term for alcohol. Oh the things BBC's Merlin teaches you. **

**Also – My twin sister is the MOST awesome sister on the planet, because while my laptop is out of commission travel-wise, she is letting me use hers for the purpose of writing this update! WOOT! I love you, sis! Please keep doing that when we go to Gramma and Poppy's for three weeks!**

**June 10, 2012**

**Edited July 2 2012**


	44. Chapter 44

**AN/AR: GRRRRR! If I may – I HATE THE CHARMED COMICS!**

**It's hard enough to twist canon as it is in the TV show and occasionally the novels. But COME ON! Now Henry Jr has Cyrokinesis? (And yes I mostly keep up on the comic via the Wikia, sue me. ( . . . That was sarcasm. I'm a poor teenager. I literally have ten bucks and maybe fifty cents that are MINE.))**

**Anyway . . . Grr. I have no idea what to do with this information. *headdesk***

_._

_Angelica had no clue how to get out of the Chamber._

_Salazar Slytherin was laughing uproariously._

.

_Well._ This was going to be difficult.

Angelica crossed her arms as she stared up the giant pipe she'd used to enter the Chamber of Secrets. Grime on her clothes and multiple streaks in the filth coating the pipe stood testament to her failed attempts at getting out.

Also, those rat bones? Definitely there, she'd seen them. Stupid curiosity. _Ewww . . . _

The diminutive Ravenclaw threw a cold glower over her shoulder. Slytherin was hovering a few feet away, entirely amused. He refused to answer her when she asked how to get out of the blasted Chamber, and at the moment, she loathed him for it.

Jerk.

Angelica glanced down at her watch. She'd been down here for two hours now, and she _still_ couldn't think of any spells she could use to escape the place. Really, Hogwarts should teach that sort of thing! The best she could think of was a potion she had in her Book of Shadows that allowed the user to teleport. The problems were that, A) she didn't have a vial on her, and B) the smoke teleportation potion was dangerous to use if not in a 'tranquil' state of mind. Somehow, Angelica very much doubted that semi-homicidal feeling for a centuries dead wizard did not count as tranquil, much as she thought it should.

_. . ._ She was an_ idiot! _Angelica felt like hitting herself – she knew how to cast a spell just by_ rhyming_. What was she ding waiting around here? Looking for a prince to come t her rescue? Not bloody likely. Now, how should it go . . . ?

"_Soon the hour shall turn to one,  
>I must go, my work is done.<br>From this place I wish to leave  
>To the place I think to be."<em>

In an instant, Angelica found herself blinking at the sudden light in the Great Hall. Somehow – and she attested this to being a purely wizard trait – no-one had noticed her appearance, though it was near the end of lunch hour and the Great Hall was almost entirely full.

Wizards were weird. And oblivious.

Still, it kept her away from any awkward explanations, so Angelica felt perfectly free to devour a turkey sandwich and head up to the Hospital Wing to see her friends. It was Sunday, and she wanted to check in on them.

What she found upon reaching Madame Pomphrey's domain was . . . odd. A small, scruffy looking black owl was resting on Chris' chest, a letter tied to it's leg. It seemed rather annoyed, if the way it was pecking at the Slytherin boy's chest was anything to go by. Angelica rushed over and took the letter, offering the owl a quick pat on the head before looking at the Muggle envelope.

Flipping it over, Angelica was surprised to recognise the handwriting – it was Chris' sister, Melinda's. That brought a new round of questions. Did his family know about him getting Petrified? If she just went by the address on the letter, 'To Chrissie Halliwell (:P)' they probably didn't. Angelica bit her lip. A glance at Chris showed him the same as he had been the past few days. She glanced back down at the letter in her hands. She opened it.

Some polaroid photos and a sheet of pale pinky-purple stationary fell out onto Angie's lap, bordered with inky lilacs and written on in blue. The top of the stationary read 'From the Desk of P. Melinda Halliwell' in dark purple. 'P. Melinda'? Angelica shook her head and read the letter, trying to ignore that it was an invasion of privacy – she really had no idea what Melinda was like, and didn't want her best friend's little sister to have a breakdown if she didn't know her brother was petrified, yet.

. . . Alright, she might've been a bit curious about the girl.

'_Chrissie!_

_I miss you. Yeah, I know, I have tons of people around me, and CSDR* is only an hour away from San Francisco. I see the family on weekends, blah, blah, blah . . . _

_I still wish you could orb over though. Do you think Mom signed me up for the boarding program so that that wouldn't happen? I mean, it's SO much easier to get away with magic and stuff at home, but at a boarding school where the most anyone knows about magic is what they read in books? It's harder, and she wants everyone to be normal . . . Do you remember how SO tee'd off she got when Aunt Billie told her she was opening her shop? She was all "You gotta keep magic quiet" etc, etc, etc . . . Yuck!_

_I'm sorry, I'm being paranoid again. I just miss everybody, and ASL isn't as easy to learn as . . . hacking a computer, I guess. And now I have to wait like two weeks to hear from you, because I can't have Wy or Aunt Paige or someone orb you my letters. Unless I want to write them on the weekend. And half the time I do. But most of what I want to say is on a weekday! I hate not being able to talk to you all the time. :(_

_How's your ASL* coming along? Are you still having trouble with 'm' 'n' and 't'? If you are, tell me, and I'll include a sheet with everything on it. Ig you want, try those sentences with every letter in hem - it really helps if you fingerspell* it all. Anyway, I hope you're doing OK. _

_I want to be able to talk to you this summer, and Mom's the only one at home putting much effort into learning sign. Wy's just bored now that it's not shiny and new and I'm not telling him what the sign for sex is - ew, by the way - and Dad thinks I should just write on a white board. Stupid forties mindset – he barely thinks sign language should count __**as**__ a language. The Aunts are trying, but they so don't have time. The twins know the basics, since I teach it to them when I go home, so I have them to talk to. The rest of the cousins know a little and tend to opt for the whiteboard thing. _

_Is it stupid that I'm mad at them?_

_But . . . At least there's Uncle Coop - did you know that Cupids are Omnilingual, just like Whitelighters? It's AWESOME! He's teaching Aunt Phoebe, too! I just found out this weekend when I got your letter, and YAY! I kinda sorta tackled him in a hug. I missed them. I haven't seen them in a while until now._

_I REALLY hate that whiteboard._

_Uncle Henry knows it a little, since he sometimes will work with a Deaf* person at work, but not much. 'Hi' 'how are you' and 'hungry' are pretty much the limit to what he knows. But it's something! And he and Aunt Paige are thinking about signing up them and the twins and Henry for a class!_

_Anyway, how's life at Hoggywarts? You'll never get me to -s-a-y- **spell** that right you know. :-) CSDR's okay. It's so WEIRD though, living at school. Totally no clue how you've dealt with it. Speech Therapy's a bit better – I'm helping Amber with it, so I have one friend. Ms. Colbert keeps getting po'd at me, though, since I won't use the hearing aids. It's not like they work much, yeesh. I can read lips better. Yeah, yeah, I have a bit more hearing in my one ear know, blah blah blah. Still can't make out much more than a car horm blasting in my ear for G's sake._

_You remember what I said about my room mate, Breanna? Well . . . I'm glad there's more than just us two in the cottage. (I was kinda disappointed about those – we have cottages instead of dorms. Isn't that weird?) She's weird. I mean, I don't like her very much anyway, but she saw a couple of my books on Norse Runes and wigged out. I barely even caught half of what she was signing, but it wasn't very nice. I ended up leaving to get Jean – our houseparent, did I mention her yet? She's nice – to make her stop. By the time I dragged her to the room, Breanna'd torn pages from my books and thrown them at the walls!_

_I'm shaking my head right now. It's so stupid – they're a couple of books, for Pete's sake. I sort of hoped I wouldn't have to deal with that here – seriously, unless one of us moves across the state or out of it, we could be at school until we're both 21*. They're BOOKS. I was bored, I saw them, Mom bought them for me because I've frankly given up on Tarot cards becaue they hate me. :P Stupid Tarot cards._

_And plus Aunt Billie had a sale going on that weekend, but that's besides the point!_

_Grr!_

_So I got a new room assignment, switched with Breanna's friend Christine. Surprise! Now I'm rooming with Heather! She's this really cool girl with the prettiest blonde hair EVER, and she's always got like a million beads braided in it, and she's really funny. She's helped me a LOT with signing, and doesn't huff and give up and walk away when I need her to repeat things lots before I get them. Most of my classmates think I'm kinda annoying for that, but pretty much get it, I think. Still annoying though, so, avoidance and huffing._

_So . . . Still planning to dye that Lockheart guy's hair pink?_

_I love you,_

_Mel :-) _ '

. . . That didn't really help at all. Angelica dropped down on the seat between her two best friends' beds and stared at the letter. She felt . . . rather furious at herself, actually. That was private, and now she'd ruined it by reading it. And the pictures were still on her lap. She glanced down at them. There were photos of two girls - a young blonde, and an older redhead. There was also a photo of a slightly messy bedroom, with a brown haired girl that looked a lot like Chris standing in it, grinning and holding up a handshape to the camera. They were all titled, in a messy cursive. 'Heather' 'Jean' 'Me in my new room! 'I love you!''

Angie felt like a giant jerk. And Melinda probably didn't even know about her brother being Petrified. Angelica knew that the usual Hogwarts policy wasn't to let parents know when a student went to the Hospital Wing. Something about _in loco parentis_ and wearing out owls before their time.

She could use that teleportation potion, though. Drop it over a letter, letting Melinda know? No . . . that was designed to work on people, not objects. What if she dropped a bit of blood or hair on it? But that wouldn't give the potion an idea of a location. It might drop on her, at best. Angelica turned over the page Melinda had written on . . .

. . . Paige! Angelica stood up abruptly and set the letter on Chris' side table. She'd teleoprt to his Aunt Paige. She'd picked him up at the station, she'd want to know.

As she rushed up to her dorm room to get her Book of Shadows and make the Smoke Teleportation Potion, it never even occurred to Angelica how strange it was that she'd never considered talking to Chris' parents.

**AN/AR: ASL stands for 'American Sign Language', which is derived from French Sign Language and the signs that Deaf people were already using when the first Deaf School in the US opened in the 1800s.**

**Deaf/deaf. Big D Deaf denotes a person with hearing loss who signs and is a member of the Deaf community. Little D deaf denotes a person with hearing loss who is oral - they read lips and learn to speak, and aren't generally a part of the Deaf community.**

**CSDR stands for California School for the Deaf, Riverside. It's roughly an hour away from San Francisco, and since the other Deaf School in California is waaaaay four hours on the other side of the state, it's most likely that Mel would go to CSDR. Admittedly, she probably could be a day school student, but the way I've written Piper and Leo . . . Piper, at least, she'd think it best that, since her daughter's lost her hearing now, she should know sign language and people like her so that she doesn't feel out of place and has friends she can talk to however she likes. So, only home on weekends like a regular border. Plus, with the way I've written Piper so far, I think she'd be frankly freaked by her daughter suddenly not being able to hear. Neither she nor Leo would know what to do, so they'd send her to someone who did.**

**CSDR provides education for Deaf students ages three to twenty-one.**

**Also, in case anyone was put off by the mention of learning to lip read – CSDR has an oral program, as in they teach lip reading, speech, etcetera. Pretty much, Deaf people can learn to speak and understand what people who don't sign are saying. It's all on their website, just Google it. California School for the Deaf, Riverside. Yes, it's in the United States. ;-) North America, too.**

**Also, feel free to tell me what you think about the Henry Jr dilemma! Please! Powers, no powers? **_**I don't know.**_** The wibbly-wobbly timey-wimet-ness of the Charmed Comics baffles me, and I don't know what to do. Have him develop them? Do a retcon against previous chapters and say he's always had powers? Leave hi a Muggle? Help? *pathetic pleading pouty face***

– **Mercy.**

**6-28-2012**

**Edited July 2 2012**


	45. Chapter 45

Angelica found that she didn't like making the Shadow Teleportation Potion very much. Oh it was simple, sure, simpler than most of the things she did in Potions class, but it was finicky and this was the third time in a row it had exploded on her! She dumped her cauldron out into the bathroom sink and started again. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was a . . . . surprisingly peaceful place to brew, actually. She stayed away from the toilets, though - she had no clue if they were clean or not, and didn't want to contaminate her potion. She didn't want her body in California and her head in Peru, after all . . . That would hurt. Angelica shuddered.

She managed to make the potion properly after an hour and two more attempts. Finally! Yes! She smiled a little to herself and focused on Chris' Aunt Paige's image, as she'd seen her over break. Red hair, red lipstick, taller than Angie, pretty clothes . . . She threw the potion down onto the stone floor and tried not to gag at the smoke surrounding her.

The next thing she knew she was stumbling back into a counter. Ow . . . She unscrewed he shut eyes and saw that Paige was staring at her in shock. At least she wasn't in the middle of something . . . Angelica gulped. "Erm, hullo, Miss Paige. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm Chris' friend Angelica. You met me at the train station a while ago, when you were there to pick him up."

Paige nodded. That was good. "Is he okay?" Paige asked, looking over Angelica. The dark haired girl realised belatedly that she might have wanted to change into something other than the clothes she'd had on in the Chamber . . . She winced.

"Eh, sort of. He's Petrified, you see. Someone set a basilisk on the school, and it was Petrifying people. No one got a direct look, so they're not dead, it's just that - well, they're . . . frozen. Petrified." Seeing Paige's shocked look, Angelica hastened to continue. "But I stopped the basilisk, so no one else is going to get hurt, I swear. I just - the school doesn't really have a policy of letting people know about Hospital wing visits until the end of the year, after students had gone home, and I just thought that you deserved to know, since you're his family and all . . . Um, I suppose I should have asked if Miss Phoebe was hear too, so I could tell her, as well, bit I didn't think of it . . . "

"_What?_"

Angelica whirled around with a jump, to see a long-haired brunette woman standing in front of the couch past the half wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. Several other people were there, most of whom Angie recognised, but the woman, the blond man, and his equally blond son, she didn't. She wondered who they were. Silently praying that they weren't Muggles Miss Paige had invited over for the evening, she said timidly, "Er, I'm Chris' friend Angelica. Someone was making a basilisk go around our school petrifying people, and Chris is too, now. But the basilisk thing is over with," she added hoping to placate the angry woman. The woman held up her hands and flicked her wrists.*

The next thing Angelica knew, most of the people that had been in the room were gone, and Chris' Aunt Phoebe was standing in front of her, looking worried. "Are you alright?" she asked. Angelica nodded, a little confused.

"Erm, yeah . . . Where did everyone go?"

Miss Phoebe smiled a little. "Most of them went to the Manor, to see what could be done about Chris being Petrified. Paige, Henry, Harry and the twins are upstairs. Paige should be down in a moment. We wanted to ask you a few questions."

Angelica shifted on her feet, nervous. Questions? About what?

"It's nothing bad, so don't feel nervous," Phoebe explained, "but if you could talk to us, it would help a lot. Okay?"

"A-alright." Phoebe smiled.

"Great! I'll go get you something to drink - you look dead on your feet. You like cocoa?"

The Ravenclaw witch grinned. "I love chocolate!"

Phoebe laughed. "That makes two of us."

By the time Paige came down from upstairs, Phoebe had handed Angelica her mug of cocoa, and the two of them were sitting on the long couch, sipping from their mugs. Paige nodded to them. "Hey," she said casually. "You okay?" she asked, looking at Angelica. She nodded, and gestured to her outfit. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I didn't think to change my clothes after making the Shadow Teleportation Potion to get her, and before that I was below the school with the basilisk, so . . . " She shrugged. "Yeah. I'm a bit of a mess."

Paige nodded. "'Kay then. How long has Chris been . . . What did you call it?"

"Petrified. Erm, I think it's been about a week, now, give or take a few days. It was just after he'd sent his last letter to Mel. He and Hermione both were."

"Oh."

What followed was a long conversation, describing basilisks, which led to descriptions of the past two years at Hogwarts, and a small, hesitant question as to who the blond man and boy were. That had been a little awkward . . . And Angelica had to wonder why Paige and Phoebe were s surprised at some of the things that happened at Hogwarts. Okay, the troll thing in first year, and the defence teachers were pathetic. Snape was a grouch, sure, but weren't there teachers like that everywhere? He wasn't all that different form some of the ones she'd had in Primary School, though admittedly they saved their ire for just her, not the whole class. Also, was the curse on the Defence position so unusual? No one at Hogwarts treated it like it was . . .

By the end of it, Angelica was rather happy when Paige offered to Orb her back to the castle - the girl had forgotten to bottle a second vial of potion, and was quite happy not to have to make another batch.

.

The end of second year was . . . bitter-sweet.

Basil caught the Heir of Slytherin the next time they came down to the Chamber. It was a good thing, too – apparently the guy had possessed a student to do everything. Angelica didn't know what the diary thing he controlled the girl with was, but it felt like the dead, only . . . mutilated. She fed it to Basil. The Mandrake Restorative Draught worked. Madame Pomphrey even handed out copies of the recipe to anyone that asked, as a precaution. All of that was great. Really, it was.

But Chris' mom was pulling him out of Hogwarts.

The world _sucked_.

**.**

**AN/AR: I'm pretty sure that Piper's power only doesn't work on othe Halliwell witches . . . Right? If I'm wrong, erm . . . . Artistic license? Oopsie . . .**

**And, yeah, kinda short . . . . and late . . .**

**So here's the deal: I've been given the advice to only split a story into a sequel when there's a real tone change. With Chris gone, there will be. However, I'm considering essentially summarising third year in five chapters or less, probably including the summer before it in that. Fourth ear will get some more detail, just because of the Tournament and Angelica's growing up and changing. There will be switching between her and Chris' POVs,and letters included. So . . . yeah. Not separating, yet, but will after year four, when the change in the story is more significant. Unless that would cause me to be lynched by anyone reading this . . . ?**

**- M. 7-23-2012**


End file.
